김석진 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw | idol!jin • domestic boyfriend!jin • fluff • comfort • clingy jin • long distance during tours • lots of physical affection • late night calls • lowercase intended
┈ [ ✉️ ] Hi angels !! This was a request by an anon in my inbox !!! Saur since one of my loves asked I had to oblige !! I personally think that Tumblr needs more Jin writers !! Or just more hyung line writers, you know !!! But any-whom !! I hope you all like this and it makes you feel giddy of sorts !! And remember if you have anything you want to see me write just send me an ask in my inbox !! Happy reading !!
before tour boyfriend!jin :(
— acts dramatically heartbroken about leaving weeks before tour even starts :( sighing loudly around the apartment like “wow… my beautiful girlfriend will forget me forever”
— tries to keep things light and funny before leaving because he doesn’t like making departures feel heavy, but you notice him getting softer in quieter moments
— cooks for you constantly before tour :( making your favorite meals, sneaking tastes from your plate, acting offended if you don’t praise him enough for it
— the type to randomly pull you into the kitchen while dinner’s cooking just to dance badly with you for thirty seconds before going back to stirring something
— absolutely takes a million selfies together before leaving and makes half of them ugly on purpose because your annoyed laugh is his favorite sound
— spends the night before departure laying beside you talking about nonsense until late because neither of you actually wants to sleep yet
— acts overly confident the morning he leaves like “don’t worry babe, i’ll survive somehow” but hugs you a little too long before walking out :(
during tour boyfriend!jin :(
— blows up your phone constantly :( selfies in waiting rooms, pictures of food, videos of him complaining dramatically about schedules
— facetimes you while eating room service in hotel beds because he hates eating alone, if you answer that is.
— absolutely the type to hold the camera way too close to his face just to annoy you while you’re trying to talk seriously
— sends voice messages instead of texts when he’s tired. sleepy voice going “babyyyyy i miss home” followed immediately by him pretending he never said that
— misses domestic routines more than anything :( eating dinner together, hearing you moving around the apartment, arguing over what movie to watch at night
— definitely buys snacks for you in every country he visits because “you need to try this one”
— when he misses you badly after concerts he gets extra talkative :( suddenly telling you random stories from years ago just because hearing your laugh makes him feel less far away
— acts like he’s doing perfectly fine during tour until you ask if he misses you and then he gets all pouty like “obviously i do??? what kind of question is that”
— falls asleep on facetime more than once with the tv still running softly in the background
after tour boyfriend!jin :)
— the second he gets home the apartment feels loud again :) bags dropped at the door, him talking nonstop, dramatic complaints about tour food while clinging to you at the same time
— immediately checks the fridge when he gets home like he’s been starving for years even though he literally ate on the flight
— absolutely wraps himself around you while you cook just to steal bites before they’re finished
— domestic life after tour becomes his favorite thing again :) lazy breakfasts together, teasing you after grocery shopping, movie nights where he falls asleep halfway through
— gets softer late at night after coming home. laying beside you quietly with his hand tangled in yours while the apartment finally feels familiar again
— loves making you laugh after tour because hearing it in person again feels different than hearing it through phone speakers :)
— spends the first few days home following you around from room to room pretending he’s not doing it on purpose
— honestly looks happiest sitting beside you doing completely normal things :) eating takeout on the couch, washing dishes together, listening to you talk about your day while he watches you with the softest expression ever
Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo (comment or ask to be added)
Summary: When Seokjin’s ex-wife leaves the country, the CEO who can manage anything except his own life suddenly has to handle full-time fatherhood with an almost two-year-old. His solution is simple on paper: ask you, Nabi’s trusted babysitter, to move in temporarily and help him out. When the inevitable crossing of lines starts to blur, you offer to take care of more than just his daughter. Will Seokjin give in to his desires? Or will he keep the professional space between the two of you?
Warnings: Age gap, power play, Dilf Jin is dangerous. This has smut!
WC: 12k
JUNE 25TH | 12:17
Seokjin was a busy man.
So he didn’t mind all of the missed lunch breaks in order to push a little more work in. Could count on one hand how many times he actually took a break in the middle of his work day during this past month.
What he did mind, however, was his ex-wife appearing in his doorway at 12:17 on a Saturday, voice already carrying the news that killed his appetite and, for a fleeting second, his will to keep breathing.
“You can’t just spring this on me.” Jin shoved the door shut harder than intended; the click echoed in the empty office.
“I’m not.” Hiah crossed her arms, bag thudding into the chair beside his mahogany desk. “The trip isn’t for another week. You have time to get organized.”
He wheezed a laugh that tasted bitter. “Get organi– You’re asking me to change my life.”
“I’m asking you to look after your daughter for a month.” she corrected, as if there was a difference.
The headache bloomed behind his eyes, hot and familiar. They’d stayed civil after the divorce, too much shared history for real hatred, too much love once for indifference. Nabi lived with Hiah during the week, and her weekends stayed with him. It worked. Mostly. Hiah’s family company gave her the kind of flexibility that his own CEO role never would.
“Unless you’d prefer I take her with me.” her sigh was tired; she’d known this conversation was coming.
“Then I wouldn’t see her for a month.” Jin’s voice flattened.
“What do you want me to do, Seokjin? Skip a critical work trip? You know I don’t have a choice.” she pointed out in return.
“What about what’s-his-name?”
Jin didn’t like the new boyfriend, he was too young, too idle, sugar-baby-turned-partner, but the man was kind to Nabi. Still. The thought of him alone with his daughter still twisted something protective in Seokjin’s chest.
The woman replied way too easily: “He’s coming with me.”
“Of course he is.” Seokjin scoffed, the sound scraping his dry throat.
“Don’t be like that. I didn’t come for permission. I’m letting you know I’ll be gone for a month.” Hiah’s tone made it sound like Seokjin didn’t have an actual choice at all. “You can keep Nabi, or she’s coming with me. Decide.”
Seokjing had no real choice here, so he nodded once, jaw tight. He’d make it work. Rearrange meetings. Be home more. Somehow.
Seokjin walked Hiah out of his office, leading her to the elevator without saying another word. The whole floor was pretty empty, it was a Saturday afterall, which is why his ex-wife knew it would be okay to come over today.
After waving his ex off with a tired smile, Seokjin returned to his office to find Namjoon and Yoongi already waiting for him there. One of them sported a frown –might have been the youngest– and the other had a grin plastered on his face –might have been the oldest–.
“What did the witch want?” Namjoon asked as soon as Seokjin closed the door to give them a resemblance of privacy.
The three of them had been friends well before they were ever co-workers, so the two men knew all that involved Hiah and their failed relationship.
“She’s going to America for a month with her new boy toy and calling it work.” Seokjin crossed to his desk, stomach cramping from skipped food, head still throbbing.
Seokjin shook his head, sinking into his chair. The leather creaked under him. “Nabi is staying with me, so that’s good.”
“Then why the long face?” Yoongi asked, even if he already knew the answer to that question.
“I’m barely home during the week, how am I going to look after her?” Seokjin ran a hand through his raven hair, slouching against his chair in a way he’d never allow anyone else to see.
“Don’t you have a housekeeper that’s there every day?” Namjoon questioned, leaning back against his own chair.
“Yeah, but Mrs. Bak is old. She can’t keep up with an almost two year old and take care of the house at the same time.” Seokjin’s head fell back, staring at the bright white ceiling.
“Doesn’t Nabi have a hot sitter already? She’s young, looks to be in good shape.” the wiggle in Yoongi’s eyebrows made Seokjin regret ever letting his best friend meet you.
“Ah yes, the hot babysitter. There, problem solved.” Namjoon nodded, sharing the feeling behind Yoongi’s sly smile. “More than one problem could be solved if you just–”
“Her name is Yn. And she’s only Nabi’s sitter during the weekends.” he interrupted, ears hot from the new direction of the subject.
Yoongi shrugged. “So? Pay her more and have her there everyday.”
You had been working for him for the past six months, so it’s not like you were a total stranger. But then again, this wasn’t the deal you had when he first hired you. Seokjin knew you were taking classes, and the commute to and from his home every night, then going to university… Even if the pay was good, it would still be too much.
“So here’s a crazy idea.” Yoongi announced. “Why don’t you just ask her to live at your place for a month? Then she’d always be there to help you. And Nabi goes to a daycare right? Yn could still go to class then.”
In theory, that sounded like a perfect solution. Simple. Easy.
But, to Seokjin, nothing was ever easy when it came to you.
"I'm leaving, Yn."
The kind voice of Mrs. Bak called out as you were in the living room with Nabi. The toddler was starting to grow sleepy from a full tummy, getting a little fussy, but you always tried keeping her awake in time for Mr. Kim to get home so he could be the one to tuck her in for the night.
It didn't always work, and it looked like today was just one of those days.
"Let's say bye-bye to Mrs. Bak?" you asked the little girl, smiling as her little chubby hand opened and closed as she did what looked a lot like a little wave.
You picked Nabi up from her play mat somewhat effortlessly, propping her on your hip so you could both walk the old lady to the door.
"Mr. Kim must be coming home soon." Mrs. Bak told you as she pulled her personal bag over one shoulder. "There’s food for him in the fridge. Make sure he eats, please."
"Of course. Have a good weekend, Mrs. Bak." you smiled at her, bouncing Nabi on your arm to get her to wave again. "Say bye-bye."
"Ba ba ba." Nabi babbled, twirling her little hand with a small giggle as you bounced her higher.
"Bye-bye, sweet girls."
You closed the entrance door, hearing the automatic lock slot into place. Nabi was still smiling when you brought her into the bathroom of her suite bedroom, where the bathtub was slowly filling up. Out of all the kids you ever babysat before, she was the only one who never cried during bath time, always enjoying being in the water.
Closing the faucet when there was enough water for you to wash the little girl, you checked the temperature written on the fancy turtle shaped thermometer floating inside the tub.
"Dada?" Nabi asked as you undressed her.
"Sorry, tooks, appa's not home yet."
Her lip wobbled, so you rushed her into the water before the tears could start, handing her the rubber duck and bright pink dolphin. She slapped at them happily, droplets flecking your cheek, giggles echoing off the tiles.
You knelt on the bath mat, sleeves pushed up, carefully washing her while she played. Nabi didn’t understand why her Appa was gone so much, only that she missed him. You felt it too, the ache of their limited time together, the weekends stitched together like rare moments rather than a constant.
Your phone buzzed in your pocket, breaking you out of your solemn thoughts. Keeping one eye on Nabi, you fished it out to open the text thread:
Hobito: we’re on our way there rn, yall close?
Gguk: i’m waiting for noona to get here so we can go….
Jiminie: she’s still with the 🥵 dilf?
You: still at WORK 🤨
You: you can go ahead gguk I dunno how much longer I’ll have to stay here. I’ll just meet you guys at the bar.
It was half past seven when your boss arrived home, thirty minutes after you were supposed to meet your friends for drinks at your favorite bar. Nabi was already out like a light, and you were ready to leave, just sitting on the couch with all of your things packed up when the front door opened.
And then Kim Seokjin walked in and every intention to leave evaporated.
Six months of Saturdays and Sundays, and you still weren’t used to him. The word on the street –as told by Mrs. Bak– was that Seokjin’s mother had been Miss Korea back in the day, and he had definitely inherited her genes.
If he just had the looks, you might have a little more luck when it came to controlling your ever growing –and extremely forbidden– crush on the man. But on top of that, Seokjin was a good man, extremely kind, always treated you with nothing but gentleness, and a very dedicated father. He was a good seven years older than you, too. And you didn’t know why that mattered, but the deepest, darkest parts of you liked that extra fact.
“Hi, Yn. I’m sorry I’m so late.” he greeted you with a soft, and extremely tired, smile. “How is she?”
“Passed out.” you replied with a smile that matched his earnestness. “I tried keeping her awake for you, I’m sorry.”
The man shook his head, letting his briefcase rest on the closest armchair, like he couldn’t be bothered to put it away right now.
Seokjin had planned on coming home hours ago, in hopes of spending some quality time with his daughter, maybe talking to you for longer than rushed hellos and dragged goodbyes. But thanks to a system failure in his company, he had to stay longer in the office than he’d liked.
And now his baby was already asleep, he was exhausted and you were clearly ready to leave.
“I’m just going to see her real quick, okay?” he spoke with a small sigh, hesitating before adding: “I’d like to speak to you before you go, if you have five minutes to spare.”
“Yeah, of course.” you nodded with that sweet smile you always had for him, no matter how hard your day had been. You liked playing it off as if his baby was an angel, and most times she was, but Nabi was still a toddler, nearing her terrible twos. And Seokjin noticed the pink marker stain on your new jeans, when it hadn’t been there this morning, along with the very wet spot on your shoulder, probably the result of an eventful bath time.
Still, you never added any more pressure onto him, never complained. Never nagged him about the amount of extra hours you had to do while waiting for him to get home so you could go on your way.
And that made it really hard for him to remain neutral when it came to you. To ignore how pretty he thought that damn smile was, how expressive your eyes were and, fuck, sometimes his tired brain ran away from him and made him think about you in other ways.
Inappropriate ways.
Ways he should not think about his kid’s babysitter.
When Seokjin walked into Nabi’s bedroom, he was careful not to wake her. The room was dark, except for the moon shaped night light resting on her dresser. Seokjin leaned over her crib, watching his baby sleep soundly. She was the reason he worked so hard, so he could give her a life where nothing would ever be missing.
But it still hurt him to think that maybe the only thing missing from it right now was him.
Seokjin pulled her pink fuzzy blanket higher over her little body, whispering a small ‘sweet dreams’ before leaving the bedroom to meet you outside.
He found you in the kitchen, pulling out a container of food from the fridge, bags abandoned on his couch and your coat left somewhere in the living room. Seokjin liked how comfortable you were inside his home, instead of being put off by the fact that you moved with more certainty than he had most days.
“She’s still sleeping?” he heard you ask, answering you with a nod as he begged his brain to behave. “Good. Mrs. Bak left you some dinner, would you like me to heat it up?”
“I’m craving something fresher. Would you eat with me?” his lips were moving before he could stop himself, catching the small twitch of your eyebrows and the quicker blink of your eyes. “Unless you have plans, of course. Which I guess you do, it’s a saturday night after all–”
“No, no plans at all!” you shook your head, pausing his quick spilling of words. “How can I help?”
“Can you make rice?”
Your scoff brought a new smile to his lips. As you mumbled about your abilities in the kitchen, Seokjin started to gather the ingredients he needed for a quick bibimbap dish. His kitchen was big enough for the two of you to move around each other without bumping around, but you still did.
Maybe he walked too close to you on his way to the stove, just so his arm could brush yours.
And maybe you walked in front of him to grab a spoon, when there was a lot more space to pass behind him.
It was during times like these that made him believe that maybe his inappropriate thoughts weren’t actually one sided.
“What did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Kim?”
You asked the man, trying to mask your nervousness.
From the time he asked you to wait because he wanted to speak to you until now, at least a handful of scenarios had coursed through your brain. While you didn’t necessarily need this job to survive, you weren’t particularly interested in searching for a new one either; not to mention you had grown quite fond of Nabi to not be upset if you were about to be fired.
You also didn’t think Seokjin would be cooking for you right now if letting you go was his intention.
The man snorted a little laugh. “Please, I’m not that much older than you. I told you Jin is fine.”
You smiled sheepishly, because he had repeated many times not to call him by his last name. And you did try, but calling him by his nickname made you feel a little flustered. And you didn’t need anymore reasons to be blushing around him.
The way he had pushed his sleeves to his elbows and undid the top two buttons of his light blue dress shirt was face-warming enough.
“Hiah, my uh– Nabi’s eomma. She’s going out of town for a while. For a month.” the man told you as he fried sliced vegetables on a pan. “Nabi will be staying with me for the entirety of her trip, so I would need you to be here everyday. Not only on the weekends.”
“I see.” you nodded slowly, knowing Nabi would love to spend that much time with her dad, but knowing it would definitely be a change for Seokjin’s routine.
“I understand it's not the original agreement we had, but I wouldn't want to find someone else to look after Nabi…” Jin turned to you then, forgetting the vegetables to hit you with his best pleading eyes. “And she likes you so much–”
“You don’t have to convince me, Mr. Ki– Jin.” you reassured him, tilting your head. “I don’t mind the extra work days.”
You would have to move a few things around and would probably get behind on your studies, but this new deal would be just for a month… And you were mostly taking online classes this semester, so you could make your own schedule. You could make this work, if it meant making things easier for Nabi and her dad.
“Really? You’d be doing me a very big favor. You’ll get paid for this, of course, and you can take the weekends off. Hiah really just threw this on me, I don’t know what I would do if you didn’t agree.” Seokjin had a way of spilling phrase after phrase when he got nervous, which you thought was endearing and slightly funny.
You waited for him to finish so you could ask: “Will the schedule remain the same?”
“Ah, well. So.” you watched as he changed the pans on the stove top so the vegetables could rest while the pieces of meat fried. “Unfortunately, I need to stay later in the office during the weekdays. I’ll try to change my schedule for the month, but I don’t know how that’s gonna work.”
You frowned, nibbling on your lip as a thought crossed your mind: “I live a little too far away from here, so I have to check the bus’ hours–”
“Yeah, I thought about that too.” Seokjin turned his back, wide shoulders blocking your view, but you still saw the tips of his ears growing a shade darker. “I can prepare the guest bedroom for you. If you wouldn’t mind staying here for that period of time.”
JULY 3RD | 15:19
"So let me see if I got it right." Hoseok was laying on your bed as if it belonged to him. "You're about to spend a whole month living at your boss' house?"
"The man you've had a crush on ever since you met him." Jimin added, laying next to Hoseok.
"Not that deep, guys. Mr. Kim needs my help, so why would I say no?" you shrugged, giving them your back to stare at, rather than letting them read your expression like an open picture book.
It was the Sunday you were supposed to temporarily move into Kim Seokjin’s home and you were still packing your suitcase. Jimin and Hoseok had invited themselves over to help you, but all they were doing was putting ideas on your mind and hope in your heart.
"See, babe? Mr. Kim needs her help." Jimin told Hobi with a wiggle of his eyebrows.
You rolled your eyes, even if they couldn’t see it. "I'm never telling either of you shit ever again."
"Go easy on her, babe, she's still in denial." Hoseok told Jimin in return, the both of them giggling like the disgusting couple they were turning into.
"I'm not in denial!" you said, too defensively for your own liking. As you moved around your room to pick up whatever you thought you might need, you continued: "Do I think Seokjin is very attractive? Yes I do. Do I have crush-like feelings for him? Sure. Do I think something will ever happen? Absolutely not. See? Not in denial."
"You wish something would happen, though." Jimin piped up, sitting on your mattress. "Your cousin is not here, you don't have to lie to us."
"I'm going to work,” your sigh was exasperated. “I can't be thinking about any of this."
"Look, all we're saying is you're both grown adults. As long as what you do doesn't affect his kid, you don't have to be so hard on yourself." Hobi reasoned. “The Yn I know goes for what she wants.”
“What I want right now is to finish packing before he gets here.”
You ran away from both boys when you walked into your bathroom to pick up your toiletries. Seokjin had told you he’d have the guest bedroom ready for you, and you knew it had its own bathroom, but you shouldn’t expect him to provide you with basic things like a toothbrush. Right?
Once you came back into your room, Jimin was nowhere to be seen. By the noise you could hear coming from the living room, Jeongguk was home now, which meant Jimin was most likely annoying him, or getting annoyed by him.
Your best friend, however, stayed behind.
Hoseok was folding the clothes you had somewhat carelessly thrown into your small suitcase and he was doing a much better job of it. Suddenly half of the space was cleared out and you had more of it left.
Hoseok lifted his head when you approached. "You're not gonna be held hostage, right?"
"No, Hoba, I have my weekends off." you assured him. "We can still see each other during the week too, just gotta plan first."
The man helped you zip up your bag and carried it to the living room, where his current-fling was playing video games with your cousin. As you changed your cotton shorts for denim jeans, your phone buzzed with a new notification.
Mr. Kim: We’re outside, you can come out whenever you’re ready!
You: Coming right out!
It was a Sunday, so Mrs. Bak wasn’t working, which meant Nabi would be with Seokjin and you were always really excited to see her. Which would explain the thump on your heart; it had nothing to do with her father waiting outside. At all.
“Noona, if he does anything, you call me and I’ll fix it, okay?” Jeongguk said as he waited with you in the hallway, trying to look more menacing than he actually was.
“Don’t worry, Gguk, I promise I’ll be alright.” you held back a small laugh.
You squeezed your cousin into a hug before the elevator reached your floor. Jeongguk was only a few months younger than you, and you had grown up together so he felt more like a younger brother. Of course he was huge now, in height and muscles.
“Text me later!” Hoseok’s voice was heard between squeals and TV noises.
“Yeah, yeah, don’t fuck on my bed!” you warned, dead serious. “Byeee.”
Jeongguk waved until the elevator’s door closed, and you held the little wave back until the last sliver of his grin disappeared behind the narrowing seam.
The doors opened again a minute later, and the lobby smelled faintly like polished stone and someone’s expensive cologne, the air conditioning too cold against your arms after the warmth of the upper floors. Your shoes clicked across the glossy tile as you crossed toward the glass doors, and you caught your own reflection for a second, a flicker of nerves in your posture that you smoothed out before you could think too hard about it.
Outside, the heat hit you all at once again. It clung to your skin and pressed against your lungs, turning the air thick with exhaust and sun-baked concrete. The brightness made you squint, and you lifted a hand to shield your eyes while you scanned the street, blinking through the glare. It took a few seconds to find the car, parked across the way like it had been there countless times; dark paint throwing back sharp flashes of light whenever a bus rolled past.
Seokjin stepped out and the sunlight made him look sharper around the edges, crisp shirt sleeves, watch glinting when he adjusted the keys in his hand. The Ray-Bans hid his eyes, which somehow made him harder to read and easier to stare at all at once. He looked like he belonged in a magazine spread about men who never sweated, even though the heat was brutal, even though you watched the faintest shine start at his temple the moment he paused to look at you. He was smiling already, easy and practiced, but there was something under it that didn’t feel like the version of him you got on weekends. Something tighter at the corners.
You felt it anyway. The small shift in the air when he was focused on you. The way your name seemed to take up space in his mouth even when he wasn’t saying it.
"Hi! Let me get that for you." the man was smiling, reaching for your suitcase, polite as ever.
"Oh, thank you!" your voice came out lighter than you meant it to.
You forced your fingers to loosen, to let him take the weight without making a big deal out of it, but you still felt the brief brush of his hand against yours. It was nothing, you told yourself. It was a complete accident. Yet it was still enough to make you aware of the inside of your wrist for the next three seconds.
Seokjin lifted your bag like it weighed nothing, and you hated the way your brain catalogued it. The flex of his forearm, the clean efficiency of the motion, the fact that he didn’t fumble, didn’t hesitate.
For a second you hovered beside the vehicle, hand on the door, caught between instincts. Your job was Nabi, she was the whole reason for this change in your own routine, so your place was in the backseat with her. But this was Seokjin’s car, and Seokjin was driving, and there was something about sitting beside him that felt too much like a temptation for you to ignore.
You glanced through the backseat window, finding that the choice had already been made for you. The seat beside the baby chair was taken over completely, Nabi’s oversized diaper bag sprawled across it, straps tangled and a little plush toy clipped to the zipper swinging gently with the motion of the car settling.
Front seat it was.
You pulled the door open and slipped into the car, immediately twisting in your seat and reaching back without thinking, your attention snapping into that familiar, practical focus that always came with Nabi. Her cheeks were pink from the heat, fine hair doing that soft baby halo thing that never stayed where anyone put it, and she was half sunk into the padding of her car seat like it was the most natural throne in the world.
"Hi, tooks." you leaned back to poke at her half-covered tummy, fingertips gentle. Nabi squealed and curled, hands immediately going to her own belly. She’d been obsessed with her belly button lately, like it was a discovery she couldn’t believe belonged to her. "Ohhh look at your piggies! Appa's getting better with your hair."
A few stubborn strands still stuck up at the crown, but the little pigtails were actually holding, and that alone felt like an achievement.
"Dada!" she agreed with a sweet baby giggle, bouncing her pudgy legs hard enough to make the whole seat shift a fraction.
You laughed under your breath, soft and automatic. "They almost look symmetrical today."
The driver’s side door opened and closed, and the car dipped slightly with Seokjin’s weight. You didn’t look right away, which was ridiculous, because of course he was there. Of course he was sitting a few centimeters away. But you still felt the change in the space, the way the quiet settled differently once he was inside it.
Seokjin cleared his throat, and when you finally glanced forward, you caught the faintest bashfulness in the set of his mouth. It wasn’t dramatic, it was just there, in the way his hand went to the back of his neck for half a second before dropping, in the way he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel like he was checking that he was doing this correctly.
He reached toward the dashboard and picked up a laminated sheet, the edges catching the light. He held it out to you without quite looking at your face, like he was offering evidence that he had everything handled.
"That's Nabi's weekly schedule." he told you, and you could hear the pride he was trying to keep casual. "Her mother usually took her to these, but I already let them know you'd be the one to go with her for now."
You took it, doing a quick scan with your eyes. There were color-coded blocks. Little icons. Neat labels. The kind of organization that screamed overreaction.
“Okay.” you kept your tone professional as you nodded.
You lowered your gaze to the page as he pulled away from the curb, the city sliding past the windows in bright, shimmering strips. You read through the schedule while Seokjin merged into traffic, the hum of the engine steady under your feet. Most days Nabi had daycare, which would be good. It meant a few hours where you could breathe, catch up on projects, work on your assignments without a toddler climbing your lap like a jungle gym. There was a baby swimming lesson once a week too, and you could already picture her in one of those tiny floaties, furious and delighted at the same time.
But then–
“Speech therapy?” you asked with a frown, eyes dropping back to the laminated schedule. “She’s not even two.”
Seokjin’s hands stayed steady on the wheel. He didn’t look at you, but you caught the tightness in his jaw, the way his gaze stayed fixed ahead as if the road required all of him.
“Her eomma thinks she should know more words by now,” he said, voice even, CEO-like, as if he was presenting a decision that had already been made. “And I agree.”
You turned in your seat to glance back at Nabi. She was strapped in, round cheeks, toes flexing in her little socks as she kicked at nothing. Her hands were busy with the strap across her chest, fingers exploring it like it was new every time.
“She knows words.” you said, softer now, because Nabi was right there, because it felt wrong to talk about her like she couldn’t hear you. “She asks for apple juice when she wants it.”
Seokjin exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. “‘Apu joof’ is not knowing words.”
“Apu joof!” from the backseat, like she’d been waiting for her cue, Nabi chirped with little claps and an enthusiastic kick that thumped her heel against the car seat.
“See?” you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at you.
Seokjin’s mouth twitched, the closest he got to an actual smile, and then it was gone. He kept his eyes on the road, shoulders still too straight, and you felt the line he was holding between being a father and being a man who was expected to be perfect at everything.
You swallowed the rest of what you wanted to say. You were torn between defending a tiny toddler and knowing your place as the babysitter, as the employee, as someone who didn’t get to have opinions unless asked.
Seokjin didn’t say anything else, either. The silence wasn’t harsh, but it was a boundary, and you read it the way you’d learned to read him.
So you let it go.
The city moved around you in a bright blur. Heat shimmered off the pavement. The air conditioner hummed cold against your arms. The laminated sheet stayed in your lap like something heavy even though it weighed almost nothing.
After a minute, Seokjin spoke again, as if the previous topic had been filed away. “You have a driver’s license, right?”
“I do, yeah–” you glanced up, and the storefront ahead made you pause. A familiar sign, white lettering on dark glass, a place you’d been too many times to count. Relief came quick and impulsive, like your body was looking for a safe detour out of the tension. “Oh, look. Are you hungry? There’s a great coffee shop just up ahead.”
For a beat, Seokjin didn’t respond. You could almost see him toggling through all the things he still needed to tell you; Hiah’s notes, the schedule, rules, expectations. He looked like a man who lived by lists. Stopping for coffee wasn’t on the list.
Then his eyes flicked toward the shop. Toward the open parking spot just up ahead. Toward you, for half a second behind the sunglasses, quick enough that you couldn’t read the look but long enough to feel it.
He signaled and pulled in.
The moment the car settled into the parking spot, the atmosphere shifted. Less motion, less distance, just the three of you in a contained space. Seokjin turned the engine off, and the sudden quiet made Nabi’s little noises feel louder, more present.
“I’ll get her.” he said, already unbuckling his seatbelt.
You watched him leave the car and go to his daughter, careful and practiced in a way that still looked slightly new on him, unfastening Nabi’s straps with a gentleness that didn’t match his earlier firmness. He lifted her out, and she went pliant against his shoulder for two seconds before she craned her neck, looking for you.
You stepped out into the heat, the sun immediately finding your skin again. The sidewalk outside the shop was warm under your shoes. A soft breeze carried the smell of baked sugar and coffee through the door every time someone went in or out.
You waited near the entrance while Seokjin locked the car, Nabi perched on his hip. The little wisps of hair he’d half managed to tame into pigtails brushed his cheek with every bounce she gave, and he didn’t even flinch. He just adjusted his hold and walked toward you, expression light like he hadn’t just gotten into a disagreement about speech therapy five minutes ago.
Inside, the café was cooler, dimmer. The air smelled like espresso and cinnamon and toasted dough, comforting enough that it softened something in your chest. The line moved slowly, people chatting in low voices, cups clinking behind the counter.
Seokjin stood beside you, Nabi in his arms, and you became absurdly aware of how close his shoulder was to yours. How his presence took up space in a way that made you want to step away and also… not.
“What’s good here?” he asked, glancing up at the menu like he’d never once had to choose something for himself without an assistant.
“Everything. But the cinnamon rolls are to die for.” you said. Then, because you couldn’t help it, because you wanted to break the stiffness that still lingered between you, you leaned in toward Nabi. You pointed at the toddler’s thighs, all soft baby roundness, and your voice dropped into the tone you always used with her. “Not as good as these rolls.”
You pretended to nibble at Nabi’s leg.
Nabi shrieked with laughter, squirming so hard Seokjin had to tighten his hold. She swatted at you with clumsy little hands, face scrunched in delighted outrage, and you leaned back just enough to let her “win.”
Then she lunged.
One second she was in Seokjin’s arms, the next she was throwing herself toward you like she’d decided this was the correct place to be. Seokjin’s body reacted, arms shifting instinctively, but he hesitated for a fraction too long like you weren’t supposed to be the one she reached for like that.
You didn’t hesitate, catching her easily, settling her against your chest like it was the most natural thing in the world. And Seokjin’s heart did a thing he refused to name. He blinked once, expression unchanged, but his hand stayed lifted for a beat as if it had forgotten what it was doing. Then he lowered it, clearing his throat.
“And what will you drink?” he asked, tone carefully neutral, like he hadn’t just watched his daughter choose you.
“Iced americano, please.”
You shifted Nabi on your hip, already reaching for your bag to grab your wallet, but your hands were full, Nabi’s fingers grabbing at your shirt collar like she owned you.
Seokjin moved faster, but not in a cutting way. More like he’d already decided you shouldn’t have to juggle a toddler and a wallet at the same time. His phone was out before you even found the zipper, thumb already on the payment app.
“Jin–” you started, reflex more than protest.
He finally looked at you then, just for a second, and there was a softness there that made your stomach dip.
“It’s fine.” he said, quiet, almost reassuring. “I invited you into this. Let me take care of it.”
The words should have felt simple and practical, placing the orders at the cashier before you could protest any longer.
Seokjin chose a table by the glass wall, sunlight spilling across the wood. A high chair sat nearby, abandoned by the previous family, and Nabi’s expression soured immediately at the sight of it, little mouth turning down like she’d been personally offended.
“She’s not going to like that.” you murmured.
“Yeah,” he glanced at his daughter and his mouth quirked, the edge of a smile tugging through. “I know.”
You sat and helped Nabi into the high chair anyway, because routines mattered and you were good at this. Nabi fussed, twisting and reaching for you with grabby hands, whimpering the moment you stepped back.
“It’s okay, tooks.” you soothed automatically, and Seokjin hovered for half a second like he wanted to reach in and fix it with his own hands. You grabbed the toothpick holder from the table and slid it toward her, tapping it lightly like it was fascinating. “Look. What’s this?”
Nabi’s eyes locked onto it and curiosity won. She poked at it with one finger, then two, then tried to pick it up with both hands as the tension in your shoulders eased a little.
Seokjin let out a breath, gaze softening as he watched you. It wasn’t just gratitude. It was that quiet, helpless kind of admiration that made him look away for a second and then look back, like he didn’t know what to do with how easy you made taking care of a toddler seem.
“How do you know this place?” he asked once the three of you settled, voice lower now as the café noise wrapped around you.
You tilted your head toward the window. “You see that tattoo shop across the street?”
He followed your gesture. Across the road, the hair-salon-turned-tattoo-shop sat with its lights off, shutters down because it was Sunday. The sign above it read Bangtan Ink, bold letters against the facade.
“My best friend owns it.” you said.
“Oh.”
Seokjin nodded, still looking where you’d pointed, like he was filing the detail away on purpose. Bangtan Ink was Hoseok’s long life dream, the quaint little place in Myeongdong. You had worked there as a receptionist for a couple months before he found someone nice enough to take your place.
Any questions he might have asked were interrupted when the Moonlight waitress arrived at your table with your drinks and pastries.
Nabi had been fully entertained by the toothpick holder, shaking it with both hands and squealing whenever a toothpick slipped free and clattered back into the little container. Each time it happened she giggled like it was the funniest trick in the world, cheeks lifting, eyes going crescent-shaped with delight.
But the second your dessert hit the table, it was like a switch flipped. Her head snapped toward the plate. Her whole body leaned forward in her chair as she reached with grabby hands, fingers opening and closing with urgent insistence. A soft whine built in her throat, half-demand, half-plea.
“You want it?” you asked, already tearing off a small piece before she could get her hands on the whole thing. The pastry was warm, the cinnamon smell rising in a sweet cloud as you broke it apart. Nabi watched every movement like you were performing magic. “Can you say ‘cinnamon roll’?”
Her mouth opened. Her brows pinched with concentration. A sound came out that was more enthusiasm than language, a string of babbles with the rhythm of a sentence, ending in a proud little chirp as if she’d nailed it.
Seokjin couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out of him, breathy and surprised, like it had been sitting in his chest waiting for permission.
“Alright.” he said, shaking his head once, amusement softening his face. “I see what you’re doing.”
“She’s almost two.” your smile sharpened, eyes bright with it. “She should know how to say it.”
Jin knew you were teasing him. He also knew you weren’t doing it to make him feel small. You were doing it the way you did everything with Nabi, coaxing and playful, turning pressure into a game she could win. And for some reason, instead of bristling, he felt something loosen in him.
Seokjin watched you offer the bite to Nabi, watched the way you waited, patient and unhurried, letting her take it at her own pace. The way you wiped the corner of her mouth with your thumb without making a fuss. The way you talked to her like she was a person, not a job.
Maybe it was because you treated his daughter with a kind of care that always caught him off guard, like you didn’t even realize how rare it was.
Or maybe it was purely you. The easy warmth you carried into a space, the lightness in your smile. The way you made his life feel less like an obligation he was failing and more like something he could actually live in, even if it was only for a few minutes at a café table with cinnamon in the air and his daughter’s laughter filling the space between you.
Seokjin looked at you, then at Nabi, and felt the thought settle with unsettling clarity.
He was in big trouble.
JULY 7TH | 21:48
Nabi had been sleeping for several hours now, which meant you were supposed to be resting. She had only woken up again forty minutes ago, but overall you learned very quickly that she was a heavy sleeper. Living in someone else’s house –even if temporarily– was a little weird, and you were still getting used to it.
It’s been four days since you moved in last Sunday, and taking care of a toddler everyday was a lot more daunting than you ever thought it would be. There were a lot more tantrums when she didn’t want to get ready for daycare, a lot more tears when you knew she was most likely missing her mother, and a hell of a lot more running around.
But there were also a lot more cuddles, a lot more giggles and an overload of cuteness. Plus, it meant you could eat Mrs. Bak’s food everyday and didn’t have to cook at all. The woman did the cleaning and the cooking –adult food and baby food–, so you only had to worry about the toddler.
The guest bedroom Seokjin had prepared for you was a lot bigger than your own, but it felt strangely untouched, like a hotel room someone forgot to bring life into. The sheets were crisp, the bedside lamp perfectly centered, the closet empty except for extra hangers. You told yourself you’d bring something small next time you went home, a candle, a framed photo, even one of your throw blankets, anything that made it feel less like you were intruding in the space.
That thought stayed with you as you crossed the living room on your way to the kitchen, bare feet quiet against the floor, the apartment hushed in that late-night way where even the air felt softer. Nabi had gone down without a fight for once, and the silence still carried a faint echo of her giggles.
“Hey–”
“Oh, shit!” your whole body jumped, hands flying to your chest as you veered toward the nearest wall switch. Light flooded the room, sudden and bright, and your heartbeat kicked up hard enough to make you dizzy for a second.
Seokjin hissed under his breath and blinked against the brightness, one hand lifting instinctively to shield his eyes. You felt your cheeks warm immediately, a mix of embarrassment and the lingering shock of almost having your soul leave your body.
When your pulse finally stopped trying to escape your ribs, you looked at Seokjin properly, sitting on his couch.
Jin’s shirt was still buttoned, but the crispness was gone, fabric wrinkled from hours of wear. His dark navy tie hung undone around his neck, the knot loosened and tilted, like he’d given up halfway through pretending the day hadn’t gotten to him. His hair was messy, not in a styled way, just genuinely out of place.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” his voice came out tired but warm, and a small chuckle followed as he leaned his head back against the couch again.
“How long have you been there?” you asked quietly, still trying to shake off the adrenaline.
He shrugged, gaze drifting toward the dark window like time didn’t matter right now.
For the past four nights, Seokjin hadn’t come home before ten at night. He’d warned you he was rushing through his schedule so he could come home earlier in the following weeks, so he could actually be present with Nabi. You understood it in theory. In practice, it still made something twist in you every time you heard his key in the door when the apartment was already asleep.
You watched him for a second longer than you should have. His shoulders looked heavy in a way they didn’t during the day. His mouth was set, but not harsh, just worn down at the edges.
“Would you like a drink?” you kept your tone light, helpful, giving yourself something simple to do with your hands and your nerves.
“You're not here to work like that. Nabi is in bed, you should rest too.” he sounded tired, but not dismissive, like he meant it as care and not an order.
“I don’t mind Mr. Kim.” you shrugged, trying to make it feel casual, like your heart wasn’t still beating too fast.
His head straightened, and for a moment he looked like he was choosing his words carefully. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he might not trust himself.
“Only if you drink with me. And if you stop calling me Mr. Kim.” the corner of his mouth lifted, small and quiet, the closest thing to a smile he’d offered so far.
“Okay, oppa.” the honorific left your tongue easier than it should have, sweet without you meaning it to be.
Seokjin didn’t say anything, but you felt his attention follow you as you crossed the living room. Your pajamas were simple, soft cotton with little red hearts scattered over them, the kind of set you’d wear without thinking twice in your own apartment.
You reached up to the high cabinet where the alcohol was stored safely out of reach from toddler fingers, your fingertips brushing the wood before you found the handle. The glass bottles clinked softly when you moved them, a small sound that felt too sharp in the quiet.
“Stressful day?” you asked, glancing back at him as you set the chosen bottle down.
“Stressful week. Month. Year.” his voice was dry, but there was no bite in it, just exhaustion.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” you meant it, along with the softness around your words.
You poured two small glasses, the amber catching the light. The smell of whiskey rose up warm and sharp as you carried them over, careful not to spill. Your hands looked too delicate around the weight of the glass.
Seokjin took his time sitting up. He accepted the drink, fingers brushing yours as you passed it, and the contact lasted half a second longer than necessary. He stared into the glass like it held the answers he’d been looking for. You could see the strain in the line of his brow, the way his shoulders stayed tense even here.
Then the words slipped out of him, rawer than you’d ever heard him.
“My friends think I should just get laid.” he said it like he was testing how it sounded in the room, and his eyes flicked to your face immediately after, as if bracing for impact.
Your feet halted mid-step as you moved to sit beside him, surprise tightening your throat. For a second you just stood there, the whiskey steady in your hands, the apartment too quiet.
“I shouldn’t speak like that. I’m sorry, it’s unprofessional.” his voice softened on the apology, sincere and a little frustrated with himself.
“My workday ended when Nabi went to sleep.” you lowered yourself onto the couch with him, careful to leave a respectful space in between you. “It’s okay, I'm not a child.”
“I know.” he swallowed, gaze dropping to his glass. It came out low, almost too honest.
You took a slow sip, letting the burn give you something to focus on. The whiskey warmed your throat and settled in your chest, and you tried not to think about how aware you suddenly were of his breathing beside you.
“You’ve been divorced for a year right?” you asked after a beat, voice gentle, offering him an easier path back to safer conversation.
“Hm.” he nodded slightly, eyes still forward.
“How long has it been then?” you continued, and you felt your mouth go a little dry as you asked it. This was new territory, and you knew it. You could feel the line under your feet, thin and dangerous.
You weren’t blind to the way he sometimes watched you when he thought you weren’t looking. You weren’t innocent enough to pretend the soft, lingering touches were always accidental. There were moments that sat between you like questions neither of you knew how to ask out loud.
Seokjin took another sip, then let out a quiet chuckle that didn’t quite reach.
“If we’re really talking about this I might need another drink.” he cracked his neck, rolling it once, then again, as if trying to shake off the tension that lived in his shoulders lately.
Your heart thumped harder at the movement, at the faint glimpse of skin where his collar had loosened.
After what felt like too long, he spoke again:
“I haven’t been with anyone after my divorce.” he said it plainly, like he was ripping off a bandage, following the words with large gulps of the golden liquid.
“What? How?” the surprise escaped you before you could smooth it into something more polite.
“I work late, and I get Nabi on the weekends. Besides, even if I did find a date in between, I come with baggage.” the reasons came out practiced, like he’d been repeating them to himself for a long time, like he knew he was giving you excuses.
You didn’t take another sip of your own drink, just held the glass in both hands on your lap, feeling the cool rim under your fingers.
Seokjin looked at you over the edge of his glass. His eyes were steady now, and the directness of it made heat creep up your neck. You wanted to shift. You wanted to pull your legs closer. The living room felt warmer than it had a minute ago. The air conditioner hummed softly somewhere in the background. The city lights outside painted faint reflections across the glass wall. Nabi’s bedroom stayed silent down the hall.
You were painfully aware that the house had gone quiet hours ago. Nabi asleep, Mrs. Bak long gone, the hallway lights dimmed to soft amber. Just you and Jin on the wide sectional in the living room.
You shouldn’t have asked. You knew it the second the words left your mouth:
“You don’t have to find a new wife to feel good, oppa.” your voice came out softer than you meant, almost careful, like you were handing him an out. “You don’t like fucking casually?”
Seokjin’s breath hitched. Not loud, but you heard it: the tiny catch in his throat, the way his fingers flexed once around his glass before going still. He looked down at the dark gold swirl inside it, then lifted his eyes to yours. Guarded. Open. Something raw flickering behind the calm he usually wore.
“I’ve been with Hiah since school.” just fact, laid bare. “Can’t say I ever have.”
The silence that followed pressed against your eardrums. Heavy and warm. You realized you were holding your breath, chest tight, skin prickling where the air touched it. His gaze didn’t waver, and you wondered what he saw on your face.
Your pulse thumped loud in your ears, louder than the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen. The couch leather creaked when you shifted, just an inch, but it felt like the room noticed.
Hoseok’s voice cut through your head then, sharp and fond as if he were lounging on the armrest beside you: The Yn I know goes for what she wants.
And right now, god help you, what you wanted was Jin.
You set your glass on the coffee table, the clink sounding obscene in the quiet.
“You deserve to be taken care of too…” you said, words steady even though your hands weren’t. “I don’t have to be here just for Nabi.”
Jin didn’t miss the promise behind your words, he couldn't have. Not when his eyes darkened half a shade, not when his Adam’s apple slid on a slow swallow.
Your name left him soft, almost a sigh. “Yn.”
The sound of it in his mouth twisted something low in your belly. Fear spiked sharp behind your ribs: rejection incoming, this fragile thing about to shatter.
“Don’t talk like that.” it came out rougher than he probably meant, edged with a groan he couldn’t quite swallow nor hide.
“Why?” you asked, bolder now. Heart hammering so hard you were sure he could see it under your shirt.
“We shouldn’t.” his voice dropped lower. Eyes locked on yours, dark and unblinking, like he was trying to talk himself out of the gravity pulling him closer.
“I know.”
He said your name again and this time it wasn’t a warning, but a plea. A crack in the wall he’d built around himself for years.
You watched the exact second he gave in: the almost-imperceptible nod, the slow blink, the faint lift of his brows like he was asking ‘are you sure?’ and answering himself at the same time.
You moved before you could second-guess it. Reached for his glassfingers brushing his, warm and steady, and set it beside yours with a quiet clink. Then you were climbing over him, one knee planting on the cushion beside his thigh, the other swinging across until you settled in his lap.
Careful. Slow. Like approaching something wild that might bolt. And he let you.
Jin didn’t pull away, he didn’t push. Just exhaled shakily as your weight settled, thighs bracketing his hips, palms finding his shoulders for balance. The heat of him seeped through his shirt instantly, solid chest rising and falling too fast, the faint tremor in his hands where they hovered at your waist, not quite touching yet.
You weren’t used to being the one to start things like this, the bravery you were wearing felt paper-thin, nerves churning hot in your stomach.
“We don’t have to–” his voice cracked on the last word, like reading your hesitance as regret, as if you’d already changed your mind. His hands finally settled, light, tentative on your hips like he was afraid to hold on too hard.
“Please, oppa.” it came out smaller than you intended.
His thumbs flexed against the fabric of your shirt, like he was testing the reality of you there. Then his grip tightened just enough. Enough to say yes.
“Wanna kiss you.”
The confession slipped out when you caught his gaze lingering too long, too heavy on your mouth. You’d fantasized about those lips for months: plush, pink, always curved in that gentle half-smile when he thanked you for staying late. Now they parted slightly, the tip of his tongue darting out to wet them in a slow, unconscious sweep that felt like an invitation he hadn’t noticed.
Your hands were already braced on his shoulders, fingers curling into the crisp cotton of his shirt. You leaned in inch by inch, giving him every chance to pull back. He didn’t.
The first press of your lips was soft, tentative and almost polite. His breath rushed warm against your mouth, carrying the faint, dark strength of the whisky you’d both been nursing. Then his lips parted wider and yours followed, tongues brushing in a slow, exploratory glide.
You tilted your head the opposite way, chasing the angle that let you sink deeper. Your chest brushed his; the hard plane of him against the softness of you. A tiny sound escaped your throat, half sigh, half moan, and he swallowed it, answering with a low, rumbling hum that vibrated through your ribs.
Jin’s fingers flexed on your hips, tentative at first, then firmer, like he was reminding himself he was allowed to hold you here. The pressure sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in your belly. You stayed still for a heartbeat, letting the kiss stay languid, sensual, tasting him like you had all night. But then he tugged, subtle, but insistent, pulling your hips forward until your core settled more fully against the growing hardness beneath his slacks.
A groan tore from his throat, muffled against your mouth.
Your fingers slid into his hair, threading through the soft strands at his nape, tugging just enough to tilt his head back so you could kiss him deeper. You rolled your hips once and felt him twitch beneath you. Hard and ready.
The realization hit like a spark: Kim Seokjin, your boss, the man who paid your salary, the father of the little girl you had just tucked in to sleep, was losing composure under you. The power of it made your head spin, dizzy and intoxicating.
You broke the kiss when your lungs burned, pulling back just enough to see his face. Pupils blown wide, dark and glassy. His lips were even redder now, swollen from your attention, parted on shallow breaths. Beautiful and ever and absolutely wrecked.
“I can feel you…” you whispered, voice small and shaky despite the boldness still thrumming through you. Another roll of your hips, harsher this time, grinding down deliberately, and his cock jerked against you through the layers of fabric. “Always wanted to–”
“Fuck.” the word punched out of him, rougher than you’d ever heard. His hands slid lower, cupping your ass with both palms, squeezing hard enough to lift you slightly before guiding you back down in a slow, controlled drag against him. “You’re driving me crazy.”
He buried his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing skin, open-mouthed, hot, not quite a kiss but close enough to make you shiver. His breath fanned damp across your collarbone as his right hand slipped under the hem of your pajama top, fingers splaying across bare stomach, then higher, stopping just shy of your breast. Thumb brushing the underside, testing.
Every cell in him screamed conflict. This was wrong on every level he could name: you were too young, too bright, too much his employee. The same girl who smiled sweetly when Nabi babbled at her, who never complained about late nights. And here he was, thirty-something, divorced, supposed to be the responsible one, rutting up into you like he couldn’t stop himself. His cock throbbed painfully with every grind; his mind yelled at him to pull back, to apologize, to remember the power imbalance he held even now.
His body ignored it.
“Touch me, Jin.” your voice cracked on his name, soft and pleading.
He exhaled hard against your throat, then his hand moved. Jin cupped your breast fully. The weight of it filled his palm, soft and warm, nipple already peaked and dragging against his skin. He rolled it gently between thumb and forefinger, testing, and you arched into the touch with a whimper that shot straight to his groin.
He thrust up instinctively, hips chasing friction like he was twenty again and hadn’t touched anyone in years. The friction was maddening; too much fabric, not enough skin.
You giggled suddenly, breathless.
“Wrong one.” your voice was teasing, light despite the tremor in it. You pushed gently at his shoulders until he eased back, dazed eyes tracking your movements. “I have something to show you. Hope it’s not a deal breaker.”
He froze. “Mm?”
Then you hooked your fingers under the hem of your top and peeled it off in one smooth motion.
The air left his lungs in a sharp, audible rush.
Your skin glowed under living room lights, smooth, flawless, untouched by time in a way that made his chest ache with something like reverence and guilt all at once. Breasts round, perky, nipples tight from the cool air and his earlier attention. And on the left one: a delicate barbell piercing, two tiny pink heart-shaped gems glinting on either side of the small bud.
He stared. Mouth open. Brain short-circuiting.
“Holy fuck.” he breathed.
Your earlier words clicked into place. Hope it’s not a deal breaker.
Seokjin’s cock gave a hard, helpless twitch in his pants. He could’ve come right then, fully dressed, untouched beyond the grinding.
“That’s…” Jin swallowed, voice gravel-rough. “That’s sexy as fuck.”
His eyes flicked up to yours, dark, hungry, but still holding that last thread of restraint. One hand stayed on your hip, thumb stroking slow circles like he was anchoring himself. The other lifted, hesitant, reverent, until the pad of his thumb brushed the barbell. A tiny tug, barely there, and your back bowed, a soft gasp spilling from your lips.
He watched your face the whole time. Watched the way your lips parted, the way your pupils swallowed the color of your irises. Watched you react to him.
And something possessive and dark flickered in his chest.
You giggled again, soft, surprised, and so delighted when his reaction wasn’t shock or recoil but pure, unguarded hunger. Seokjin didn’t strike you as the type: polished suits, boardroom voice, the kind of man who probably thought body mods belonged to rebellious college kids. Yet here he was, eyes dark and glassy, thumbs already circling the tiny heart-shaped gems like they were something precious.
Both hands cupped your breasts now, warm palms cradling their weight. He flicked the barbell once, gentle and testing, and a sharp hiss escaped you, spine arching involuntarily.
“Does it hurt?” his gaze snapped to your face, chocolate eyes searching.
“Only if you pull it, or bite it.” your voice came out breathy. You reached up, fingers sliding into his hair, pushing the messy strands back from his forehead. They were wilder now than when you’d found him alone in the living room, disheveled by your hands, by your want. You cradled the back of his neck and guided him closer until his lips hovered over your chest. “But I like it.”
He exhaled a shaky chuckle against your skin. “Of course you do.”
The sound vibrated through you. He’d stopped expecting predictability from you tonight; every layer you peeled back surprised him, enticed him more. His cock throbbed painfully inside his trousers, the head already slick and leaking enough that he could feel the damp patch spreading against his thigh. He tried not to think about how pathetic it was, how long it had been since anyone had touched him like this, how fast you were unraveling years of careful restraint.
“I’ve been told it feels quite good on your tongue too.” you whispered, nails scratching his scalp.
Seokjin’s mouth found the soft valley between your breasts first with open kisses, slow drags of tongue, tasting salt and warm skin. Then he moved higher, lips brushing the underside of one breast before teeth grazed the side in a sudden, possessive bite. Not hard enough to bruise, but firm enough to mark. You gasped, fingers tightening in his hair, the sharp tug sending fire across his scalp.
A darker part of him reared up at the thought: others had seen you like this. Tasted you. Known the hitch in your breath when they played with that piercing. It was irrational, unfair and slightly hypocritical, but right now, with you trembling in his lap, you were his. He wanted the evidence of it on your skin, even if just for tonight.
He soothed the bite with a slow, wet lick, tongue flattening over the faint imprint before trailing kisses upward. When he reached your nipple, he paused, breath hot against the tight peak, then wrapped plush lips around it. The barbell clicked softly against his teeth; he rolled the metal between tongue and roof of his mouth, savoring the cool silver contrast against your fever-hot skin. He sucked with gentle pulls at first, then deeper, tongue flicking the heart charms in quick, teasing strokes.
Your hips stuttered, grinding down harder. Through his slacks and your thin sleep shorts, he could feel the slick heat of your pussy soaking through; wet enough that every roll dragged obscene friction against his aching length. The sounds spilling from your throat were filthy-sweet: soft whimpers building to breathy moans, louder with each swirl of his tongue.
He pulled off with a wet pop, lips glistening.
“Shhh, baby.” his voice was low, rough, edged with sudden awareness. Nabi’s room was only a hallway away. “Gotta be quiet.”
“Fuck–sorry.” you bit your lip, trying to muffle yourself, one hand still fisted in his hair while the other slid down his chest, over the hard planes of his stomach, until your palm cupped the thick ridge of his cock. You squeezed, firm and exploratory, and felt him jump under your touch. “You feel so good, though.”
Jin groaned into your neck, hips jerking up instinctively. Your small hand worked him through the fabric, stroking the length, cupping the heavy weight of his balls, and every pass sent sparks up his spine. His stomach clenched, balls drawing tight. Too much. Too fast. He hadn’t been this close to the edge from dry humping since he was a teenager.
He tried to hold it back, tried to breathe through it, but your thumb swiped over the wet spot at the tip, pressing just right, and the dam broke.
“Oh–fuck–”
His whole body locked up. Cock pulsing hard against your palm, hot spurts soaking through his boxers and slacks in embarrassing waves. He trembled beneath you, breath ragged, face buried in your shoulder as the aftershocks rolled through him.
You froze for a heartbeat. Then your fingers gentled, stroking him through the mess without pulling away.
When Seokjin finally lifted his head, his cheeks were flushed crimson, eyes glassy with mortification and lingering heat. Frustration flickered there too, annoyance at himself, at his body betraying him so quickly.
“It’s okay.” you whispered, cupping his jaw to tilt his face up. You kissed the high flush on his cheekbones, then his swollen mouth. “Really.”
“How can you–” his voice cracked. “That’s not–”
“It’s flattering.” your smile was sweet, not teasing. “Means you wanted this as bad as I did.”
He exhaled hard, something loosening in his chest. He didn’t bother with excuses; it had never happened before, not like this. But the truth was humiliatingly simple: you undid him. Your scent clinging to his shirt, your taste still on his tongue, your nails on his scalp, your hips never giving him a second to catch his breath. Too long without touch. Too much want.
And now he had something to prove.
You started to shift, ready to climb off, already mentally filing this under incredible makeout, maybe a cold shower later, but Seokjin moved faster.
One arm banded around your waist; the other braced on the couch. In a smooth, controlled motion he flipped you both. Your back met the cool, wipe-clean leather with a soft thump. You squeaked, half surprise, half laugh, and the sound vanished as his mouth covered yours again, deeper this time, hungrier.
He settled between your thighs, weight pinning you deliciously. One hand caught your wrists, lifting them above your head and pressing them lightly to the cushion, not restraining, just holding. A quiet reminder of who was bigger, older, the one who could stop this with a word if he wanted.
He didn’t want to stop.
Jin’s free hand dragged down your side in that slow and possessive way, fingers tracing the dip of your waist, the curve of your hip, before slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts. Not diving in yet. Teasing the sensitive skin just above your mound.
He broke the kiss, lips brushing your ear.
“You’re really gonna have to be quiet for this, baby.”
The word slipped from him again, and your heart stuttered hard enough you felt it in your throat. He hadn’t called anyone that in years. Hadn’t wanted to. Until you.
“For what?” you breathed, already knowing, already aching.
Seokjin’s mouth curved against your collarbone. “For when I make you cum on my tongue.”
Your breath snagged. Back arching off the leather as he began his slow descent, kissing the soft swell of your stomach, dipping his tongue into your navel just to feel you shiver. Jin’s hands roamed your thighs: warm palms sliding up the insides, thumbs brushing dangerously close to where you were already dripping for him. You bit your lip hard, trying to swallow the sounds clawing up your throat, eyes locked on his face as he explored you like he was memorizing every inch.
“Can I take these off?” he paused at your hips, voice rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Please, oppa–” The plea came out whisper-thin, hips already lifting to help.
The man hooked his fingers under the waistband of your cotton shorts and dragged them down, slow enough to make you squirm. When they cleared your ankles and he realized you were bare underneath, a low, guttural groan tore from his chest. He sat back on his heels for a second, just staring.
Completely naked under him while he was still in his half-unbuttoned shirt and slacks, cock visibly thickening again behind the damp fabric. Your skin flushed hot under his gaze, breasts heaving, nipples still shiny from his earlier attention, the piercing glinting in the low light. Thighs trembling. Pussy glistening, swollen, lips parted and slick.
“Fuck,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Look at this soaked little pussy. So fucking pretty.”
“Seokjin– please–”
Your whine cracked the quiet. He exhaled hard through his nose, then lifted one of your legs to drape over the back of the couch, the other falling open to the side. The stretch exposed you completely, cool air kissing wet heat, making your hole clench around nothing. His broad shoulders settled between your thighs as he lowered himself, stomach flat to the leather, face inches from where you needed him most.
He didn’t tease for long.
Jin’s tongue pushed between your folds in one long, slow drag, parting the sticky mess, flattening to lap up the flood of arousal coating you. The taste hit him like a drug: sweet-tart, heady, addictive. He swallowed audibly, moaned low in his throat, the vibration rumbling straight through your clit.
“Goddamn–” he growled against you. “You taste so fucking good.”
You slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the whimper that threatened to be too loud. The other flew to his hair, fingers twisting tight as he licked you open, broad strokes from your entrance to your clit, then back down, tongue dipping inside your fluttering hole just enough to make your hips buck. His large hands clamped your thighs wider, holding you pinned and spread while he devoured.
When his plush lips finally closed around your clit, you nearly sobbed. He sucked, gentle pulls at first, then harder, tongue flicking rapid little circles over the swollen bud while the flat of it pressed and rolled. Wet, obscene slurping filled the room, mixed with his muffled groans of pure enjoyment. He wasn’t breathing properly, too focused, too greedy, but he didn’t care. Neither did you.
Your hips rolled up to meet his mouth, grinding shamelessly against his face. Slick smeared across his chin, his cheeks; he only pressed deeper, nose bumping your clit when his tongue fucked back inside you.
“Jin–fuck–oh shit–”
You were trying. You really were. But the man was relentless; tongue swirling in tight, filthy patterns you didn’t even know existed, lips sucking your clit like he was starving. One hand slid up to pinch and tug at your pierced nipple; the sharp spark shot straight to your core.
“Gonna cum–don’t stop–please–”
He hummed approval against you, vibration ripping another choked moan from your throat, then did something wicked: pointed his tongue and twirled it around your clit in fast, tight circles while sucking at the same time. Your vision whited out. Back bowing off the couch, thighs clamping around his head, fingers yanking his hair so hard it had to hurt.
You came hard, a shattering, silent scream trapped behind your palm. Waves of pleasure crashed through you: pussy clenching and gushing against his tongue, legs shaking, toes curling. He didn’t stop, licking you through every pulse, slower now, savoring the fresh flood of wetness until your hips jerked from overstimulation.
When you finally collapsed, limp, boneless, chest heaving, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against your inner thigh. Lips and chin shiny with you. Breathing ragged. Eyes dark and blown when they met yours.
Your name left him like a prayer. “Baby…”
He kissed the soft skin of your thigh once, then again, higher, tasting the mess he’d made of you.
Your vision was blurry with static, limbs falling limp on the couch as you forgot your own name.
His name, however, was pretty damn clear on your mind.
series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life?
pairing. exbestfriends now public enemy no. 1 ot7 x f!reader for now
content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! curse words, ANGST ANGST, around 8k words of emotions, a LOT of feelings to unpack (A LOT), a lot of text too, i'm sorry for that.
a/n. guys omg. i can't believe this. i dont even have the words. i'm just sorry and hope you really like this chapter! i'll be waiting for your comments :')
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I'm trying my best.
No one knows. No one needs to know. They don't have to know. I don't even have to be so aware of it.
But I'm trying my best.
Was your best effort... enough?
I have to do the right thing. I have to do what's best for me. Why do I have to do the right thing if it's not what's best for me? What if what's best for me isn't the right thing?
Who could make a good decision?
Anyone would make a worse one than the last.
I just wanted compassion. And I waited... I waited too long for it.
Sending the message wasn't as difficult as you had thought. You were still angry, clearly; you still felt betrayed and suspicious of their intentions, definitely; you still intended to keep your distance, of course. Despite all that, you found a window to observe the scene objectively: the scene where you kept circling around a well, worried because you were thirsty and couldn't reach the water at the bottom, while the rest of the people kept walking by with bottled water. The scenario you perhaps needed; the grotesque and ordinary reality check that might allow you to be a little more mature.
There was no intention to forgive in your heart at that moment. There was something that still held back those emotions and did not welcome those thoughts. Whether it was their audacity or the need to maintain your dignity, you did not know. But there were other steps you could take in the meantime.
The number of events, and specifically that conversation with Dohyun, led you to consult with your pillow about a number of scenarios, events, occurrences, and conversations that had never happened, but were alternatives to the number of decisions you could make now.
You were facing a road with four thousand paths to the same place.
Healing.
Whether you wanted to go through the dark forest, the ocean, the desert, or the countryside was up to you.
But making a good decision was not in the cards. Whatever you chose, there could always be something better or worse. All you wanted at that moment was to be guided by the need your heart expressed; perhaps for the first time in a long time, you didn't think it was too crazy.
Taehyung was one of the people who supported you the most in your dream of becoming a writer, which is why he must've been motivated to make that crazy decision to expose you to the public (against your will). Not the right one, but a decision nonetheless. Jungkook was one of your closest friends because you were closest in age, which is why it made sense that he would be the most daring of them all and make the extreme decision to see you in person (against your will, like a stalker, it should be noted). Not the right one, but a decision nonetheless. Jin was always like an older brother to you, a constant support, a shoulder to lean on, which is why it would be obvious that he would try to use his connections to help you fulfill your dream (yes, you know, against your will). Not the right one, but a decision nonetheless.
A simple decision that can always change everything. Good or bad, who can really know when making it? When what runs through your body is nostalgia, a forgotten love buried deep in your soul, an unforgettable and unforgivable longing, a devastating silence, the need to want to change things. The desire to make up for something.
You were no exception to the rule. What human being didn't make mistakes? You were clearly the most affected by their decisions; by whatever had happened ten years ago that you didn't know about, and by what was happening now. Stepping aside probably wouldn't solve anything. It was as if Pandora's box had been opened. Trying to distance yourself only brought them closer, and the path your life was taking now didn't seem to take you as far away from them as you wanted.
It turns out that the less you want something, the more you attract it.
“You know I don't interfere in your decisions, sweetheart.”
Your mom was cleaning the kitchen. She'd had her nails done a few days ago, you had sent her the money: but there she was, scrubbing the tiles, using rags to clean the tables, dipping them in the water that had accumulated in the large pots. Without a hint of regret, without disgust or displeasure... just doing what she had to do (and what she wouldn't let you do, no matter how much you insisted).
Maybe because you cried too much. Or because your mother knew you better than anyone else in the world and knew that you couldn't bear to show yourself vulnerable in front of others, no matter who they were. Your mom was one of the exceptions, because there was no one else, not even your father or Seojun, who had seen you at your lowest point like she had.
“But... how do I know... if that was... the right thing to do...?”
It was early morning. Really early. You had been crying in the kitchen after sending the message. Your mother woke up and decided to go downstairs to get a drink; instead, she found her daughter on the kitchen island with her face pressed against the marble and a pool of tears and saliva around her. There were no words, they weren't necessary. She moved around the kitchen after squeezing your shoulder and cooked one of your favorite dishes from when you were little.
Maybe it was the sound of the utensils clattering, or the boiling water, or the mesmerizing smell that made your stomach growl at two in the morning, you weren't sure; but in the midst of so many comforting imaginary hugs, you stopped crying and were able to tell your mom what had been going on.
Your voice was still breaking up after you had eaten and stopped crying. Bringing up the subject at this level of vulnerability still made you sensitive.
“No one can tell you what's right or wrong, darling. Do what your heart tells you to do. If you feel that this is the way you can rest, do it. But with a clear conscience. You're not betraying yourself, you're fighting for yourself.”
The kitchen already looked spotless, but your mother continued to wipe the kitchen counter with blue rags, still with her back to you.
“Lift your chin, go get what you need; tear them down if necessary, and heal yourself.”
“Mom...” you whined, dropping your head back onto the counter, the cold marble sending shivers through your body.
“Never regret the decisions you make. They make you who you are. They are what have shaped you all these years. They are what have brought you this far.”
With a full stomach, sleep began to overwhelm you. You knew your mom was right. Maybe not many people would be convinced, but you were. That was enough. It was what you wanted. You had to convince yourself that you weren't trying to excuse them for the stupid, confusing emotions you still had and that you would eventually give up; you had to be sure that you were doing this for yourself and not for them; you had to know that you weren't looking for forgiveness, just an explanation. That would be all and nothing more.
“If in a couple of years your heart feels it can find forgiveness for them after knowing the truth of what happened, then you will make the decision at that time.”
Not the right one, but a decision.
Surely other people could move on by forgetting; by ignoring. And maybe you would have, if all those decisions hadn't been made. If they hadn't tried to come back into your life, for whatever reason, maybe someday in twenty years you would've thought about them and laughed.
Maybe ten years was enough time for some. For you, it was the blink of an eye. As if it were yesterday. Ten years of unforgivable silence. Ten years of a wound, a deep pit.
“But you're not looking for that now, are you?”
Your mother turned on her heel, the rag forgotten and her arms akimbo. She looked stern, as she knew you preferred when you had these moments, but in her eyes it was clear that she felt as sensitive as you did.
You shook your head in denial, calmer, a little more relaxed.
Emotional repression really was a serious problem.
“Then stop worrying. Go get what you want and that's it.”
It was so annoying when the simplest things ended up being the truest. You rolled your eyes, but your lips curved into a smile and your mother mimicked your gesture.
“Now, let's go to sleep before either of those two wake up.”
“I highly doubt it,” you smiled, letting your mother put her arm around your shoulders as you held onto her waist to walk back to the second floor. “Seojun has all of dad's genes. They snore like a tractor and wouldn't wake up even if there was an earthquake.”
Your mother laughed out loud. The kitchen lights went out and darkness welcomed you once again, but you didn't feel like anything was missing at that moment. Maybe you had never felt brighter.
Tomorrow would be another day. Another opportunity. Definitely another decision to face the world.
Surrounded by a bunch of people who were also deciding, for better or worse, how to face their own world every day.
-
Jin always hoped that silence would welcome him when he got home. His chaotic job and the amount of movement he had to deal with during the day were exhausting enough to make him want to come home and melt into the darkness of his room until he had to return the next day. Although Jin had already made a name for himself in medicine in his country and was a renowned cardiologist working at one of the most prestigious hospitals and university centers in the country, that didn't mean he didn't suffer from the exhaustion of the hectic life of medicine.
That's why arriving home and being greeted by nothing but a breeze was music to his ears. The voices began to fade and his shoulders relaxed.
Jin sighed.
I have to try. I have to try...
This time, the sound came from the living room. It didn't take him long to find them once he crossed the hallway leading from the entrance to the main room, where the giant television glowed and made the heads of those lying in front of it on the large gray couch, one of the first they had bought for that large apartment, shine.
If their heads recognized the sound of keys when he entered, the lock when he closed the door, or his heavy footsteps with wet soles when he arrived, none of them showed it. They were all determined to keep their eyes on the television, on the most famous talk show in the United States, where Jungkook was performing that night.
Jin had clearly not forgotten that performance. In fact, he had tried to rearrange his schedule as much as possible to be able to watch it on time. How could he not support Jungkook? But standing there, behind the others who hadn't even noticed his presence, he felt something in his body holding him back from moving forward.
Yes, they all had talked the night before. And yes, they were supposed to have parted on good terms. Jin assumed he was capable of looking past their misunderstandings, like the incredibly functional adult he was; like the eldest in that house who set an example. But the truth was that sometimes he ended up being the most immature of them all, the most emotionally constipated, and the one who had the hardest time letting go of resentment. That's why he felt like his feet were planted on the ground.
As the eldest, Jin worked hard during his adolescence and early adulthood to earn the prestigious name he now had in medicine in his country, all with the goal of being a great provider, an anchor, to ensure a secure and peaceful future for everyone; for his family. And his work cost him too much, one of which was increasing the distance between him and the others in that house.
Jin had achieved the stability he wanted, but at a very high cost.
His gaze moved from head to head, then settled on the figure on the screen.
It hadn't been long since Jungkook released that song, and it had already broken some streaming records.
It was a surprise to a few that, of all his options, he finally decided to release that song.
Taehyung was sitting on the edge of the couch, with Yoongi and Hoseok settled on the other side. There was no sign of Namjoon or Jimin anywhere in the room. Jin looked around, but all the other lights were off. It was around ten o'clock at night. Where could they be, if they weren't watching the performance in the living room? Had they argued again?
Jin held back a sigh and leaned against the wall so he could watch Jungkook, not feeling very inclined to approach the couch if another argument had broken out between them. He didn't want to be the center of the discussion again, much less fan the flames of a fire that might already be smoldering among the ashes. It had been too difficult for him to work on his relationship with others again, to try to keep the bond intact, especially when he had such a demanding job that didn't allow him to be close enough to end up ruining things with his recurring bad temper and reckless comments.
“Ah... Jungkookie is a first-rate artist.” Taehyung commented, followed by murmurs of agreement from the others.
Jin smiled. He was proud of how far Jungkook had come. Although everyone had recently had their ups and downs, this was something that nothing and no one could ruin. He was proud that everyone had worked hard to fulfill their dreams and together had achieved what they wanted.
Together...
The presentation ended and Jin blinked. He heard Hoseok's exclamation when the shot quickly cut to Jungkook's face and caught sight of his crystallized eyes. It was nothing new. Jin had accompanied the youngest a couple of times to the studio when he was recording this song, accompanied by the siamese or just the two of them. They were probably the only ones who had gone through the entire process of constructing the song with him.
It was very sentimental. A painful regret. Jin believed it was a true display of grief and sorrow. A wish to the air and the empty sky to turn back time. A confession that falls on deaf ears, like shouting in the middle of the desert. An absurd hope.
A reflection, perhaps, of the thoughts of seven people in a single song.
“Was he crying?” Hoseok turned to look at Yoongi, his expression upset and his eyes worried. “We have to call him.”
“It always happens to him with that song.” Taehyung sounded resigned, now leaning back in his chair as the program credits rolled. “Let's wait for him to text us that he's at the hotel. He must be feeling overwhelmed right now.”
“Is that song about who I think it's about?” Yoongi, always asking the right questions, turned to look at Taehyung, accompanied by a confused look from Hoseok.
Taehyung looked back at him but didn't answer. Jin, his arms crossed over his chest, watched the interaction until Yoongi became lost in his own thoughts and Hoseok took out his phone, perhaps to reread the lyrics.
Maybe this was the only Jungkook song that not everyone had heard before it was released.
Jin felt his phone vibrate in his pants pocket and moved to finally leave the room and head to his bedroom. If he fell asleep at that moment, he would have at least five hours to sleep peacefully. He had achieved his purpose for the day, and that was enough.
He couldn't deny, however, that he felt bad about walking away like that without talking to them. The logical part of his brain told him he should just do it without thinking too much about it, but the other part, the one that was too sentimental and anxious, only reminded him of the distance and the chasm he himself had dug between them and prevented him from getting closer, from building a bridge to see them. He didn't deserve it. Not now.
Yoongi sank into the armchair, his mind lost in speculation. Taehyung's silence was pressing, and that only made him begin to consider how many other things the others knew and did that they sometimes didn't share with anyone. It wasn't that they always told each other every secret, nor was it a condition of their friendship to do so, but this... that song seemed too deep for everyone.
Sighing, Yoongi knew there was no room for reproach or anything like that, far from it. He would read the lyrics later in bed, as Hoseok was doing at that moment, and then he would fall asleep with a heavy heart. What did it matter?
He turned off the TV and the house finally fell silent.
He no longer felt Jin's presence behind them.
“What time were the others coming home?” Yoongi tried to bring them back to the present.
Taehyung blinked and watched him get up, moving toward the kitchen.
“Namjoon said not to wait for them.”
Yoongi hummed in agreement.
“Did they say what they were going to do, hyung?”
Hoseok shook his head in response, locking his phone and setting it down on the small table in front of the couch, his lips pressed into a line and his gaze fixed on some point on the table. Yoongi returned with a glass of cold water and watched them, Taehyung twisting his lips and frowning, as if trying to telepathically figure out where his twin was.
“It must be something important,” Yoongi commented simply, shrugging when Taehyung gave him an inquiring look.
“And if it's important, why wouldn't they tell us?”
“Don't start. You get like this every time Jimin does something without you.”
“That's not true!”
“It's true, Taehyungie.”
Taehyung barely grunted in response, crossing his arms over his chest. Yoongi needed to go to bed early so he could get up early to finish his new album tomorrow. He had everything ready and would already be in bed if it weren't for Jungkook's presentation that happened to coincide with that night. He would wait for him to confirm in the group chat that he was already in his room before drifting off to sleep that night. He wouldn't think about anything but his work.
Or at least he would try.
Because, if he had to be honest, he felt as curious as Taehyung. With the number of unwanted events that had occurred in recent days, he couldn't help but think that the unexplained disappearance of those two could be suspicious. Although everyone had already come to some kind of agreement, the truth was that when it came to a specific person, none of them could think clearly.
Yoongi looked up when he heard the sound of keys against the front door. Hoseok turned to look, and Taehyung got up from the couch and started toward the entrance.
“Where were you guys? You didn't say— oh, hi, hyung.”
Namjoon appeared in the living room. He looked tired, as always, especially these last few days, and Yoongi recognized it with a heavy heart. He was practically the one who had taken the lead without anyone ever asking him to; the one who always looked out for everyone and did the impossible to get them where they were now. He was the one who always made the toughest decisions and the only one who tried to include everyone in the decision-making process when other people looked over their shoulders.
They had been lucky to meet someone like Namjoon.
Yoongi watched him walk, in his socks, with his briefcase in his right hand and his jacket in his left, his eyes so small from sleep that it looked like he was already asleep as he walked toward them. More recently than ever, as far as Yoongi knew, Namjoon was no longer sleeping as well as he used to. He didn't want to say it was because of recent events, because if anything was certain, it was that Namjoon carried a huge burden of guilt that had never let him sleep well.
But both he and Hoseok were the ones who kept it hidden the most, for the sake of everyone in that house. To try to maintain unity. To prevent what they had worked so hard to bring together since that cold winter from falling apart again.
“I couldn't make it to Jungkook's presentation. I saw it on the way here.” Namjoon dropped his things on the couch and then himself, running his hands over his face in a gesture of exhaustion. Yoongi watched Taehyung circle the furniture and repeated in his head the question he knew he was going to ask the older man.
“And Jimin?”
For some reason, Namjoon froze. He removed his hands from his face and looked at Tae as if he had just told him that his whole life had been a dream. Taehyung noticed his strange look and frowned.
“Jimin?” Now Namjoon looked worried. He went from surprise to controlled panic, only as he knew how to do it. He sat down slowly on the couch and looked at each of those present. Hoseok shook his head, informing him that he didn't know anything about the blond either. “We split up a while ago because he said he had things to do. I thought he was already here.”
“No, he's not here.”
Namjoon turned to look at Yoongi when he answered, the anguish he was trying to suppress overflowing from his face. By that point, everyone had realized that it wasn't a good sign that Jimin wasn't in the penthouse at that moment. Yoongi could guess the reason behind it, but he didn't like the direction his conjectures were taking. From the stern way Namjoon was looking at him, how his features hardened, Yoongi could only conclude that, sadly, he was right.
How could they not have realized that before? Maybe Jimin was the one they should be most worried about.
“If Jimin isn't here and he wasn't with you... where is he?”
Hoseok asked, tilting his head, his features cautious, as if he were about to reach the same conclusion as Yoongi and wanted Namjoon to confirm otherwise.
Taehyung just put his hands to his head, distancing himself from the group.
“Shit!”
-
Yuna wasn't someone who hid things for malicious purposes. Many things in her life had taught her when to talk about something and when it was better to remain silent, waiting, giving the other person space to open up at their own pace, to build trust, because emotions and trauma were very difficult to process.
Yuna didn't know for sure, but she had a feeling that you had gone through some kind of shocking event in your life that had left an emotional mark on you. She knew this from the dry, resentful way you spoke to her when you first met; from the way you interacted with people, with your coworkers; she knew it from how you never trusted anyone, from how you kept very superficial relationships with people, and because the only reason you were still friends was because Yuna hadn't left you, because she had never crossed your boundaries, because she had proven herself worthy of your trust... because she had never asked too many questions.
When it came to you, Yuna learned to tread lightly, and although it sounded awful, although anyone outside your relationship who could see it from the outside would think it was an attitude derived from her friend's selfishness, she couldn't simply try to fight that instinct that had been born out of a traumatic experience. How could she confront someone so inhumanely?
Yuna used to wonder a lot what situation could've caused that kind of mistrust in you. More recently, Yuna wondered if her conjectures could be true.
“What are you going to do?”
“I can't give you any details...”
You don't want to. Yuna bit her tongue.
Being on the receiving end of this type of relationship prevented anyone from being morally or ethically right or wrong in any of the positions you decided to take to confront it.
Let us consider these scenarios:
You could be downright evil, in which case it would cost you nothing to attack with questions about the subject that was clearly sensitive to the distrustful person, but you could, subjectively, justify it as your “right” to an answer: Am I not worthy enough of your trust? Haven't we come this far because you trust me, or is that not enough?
Then, you could be understanding, empathetic, extremely permissive, regardless of the blow and pain caused by knowing that the person you considered unconditional in your life does not feel the same way about you after so long.
On the other hand, you can be objectively empathetic, simply go with the flow, make decisions, keep up with the pace of life, knowing that everyone resolves things in their own way, respecting boundaries from a neutral standpoint and knowing that there is nothing that can be done about it.
Everything was subjective.
Yuna, for her part, believed she belonged to the third group that would never pressure, that would not try to force answers out, and that would never feel resentment for the other person's lack of trust because it was never personal, it was an instinctive response to a traumatic experience.
Even though with each passing year everything felt heavier and heavier. When she was not welcome in vulnerable moments and could only offer support through a screen, without knowing if that was what was needed or if it was enough, because she didn't have enough knowledge of the context. When she had to be the target of misdirected anger, which couldn't be directed anywhere else because it was stuck at the bottom of a broken heart that had been left alone for so long. When she couldn't support you at every moment, because the moments when she had been able to glimpse that heartbreaking vulnerability were fleeting, as fleeting as a blink of an eye, so short that she had to ask herself several times if it had really happened.
That's how it was the last time, when she found you crying in the cellar as soon as you came back from lunch.
Yuna would never pressure you. Yuna would never demand answers. Yuna never mentioned seeing Jeon Jungkook's depressed face on the other side of the door through the small window in the storage room, which was right in front of her when she entered the room and found you on the floor, because it wasn't her place to seek those answers. It wasn't her life, it wasn't her feelings, and it was certainly a decision not to take it personally, because it wasn't.
That's why she felt concerned when you told her you were going to meet someone to face something you should've gotten over long ago. Yuna felt that you were going to encounter something that could shock you; something you might not be ready to face yet. Anyone would say she was overreacting, but Yuna knew your mannerisms very well in those moments of anxiety.
Nevertheless...
There was a guilt that haunted her. And Yuna was not someone who hid things with malicious intent, no. She knew she was in no position to demand explanations. But maybe many of those things had been her fault. Maybe whatever was going on could've been quickly stopped and disappeared if she hadn't gotten in the way. She didn't think, of course, that it would backfire so soon.
Yuna knew she had made many mistakes in her life, and perhaps hiding what happened that afternoon in the cafeteria had been one of the worst.
“And you have to go alone?”
“Well... if it's something from my past, it's something I should face on my own, don't you think?”
“Well, yes... there are things that can only be overcome by facing them. But that doesn't mean you have to put yourself in a situation you're not ready for...”
Yuna almost cringed when you stopped and turned to look at her with a frown. She hated the feeling that ran through her body, with your eyes asking her if she was really trying to cross that line; if she really wanted to venture to keep asking. Yuna wanted to bite her tongue, because she knew what kind of situation pressing further would lead to, and her instincts told her that she had to avoid that confrontation at all costs, but it seemed that the fear and uncertainty she felt about how the whole situation might affect you was much greater.
Her real question now was: what was she willing to sacrifice?
"I've been running away from that for many years. I think this is a good opportunity to end it all at the root."
Your words echoed in reflection, in the internal perception that this was a completely rational decision and, above all, that it left no room for rebuttal or contradiction. Yuna understood this from your words, your tone of voice, and the (maybe) upset look you were trying hard to hide. She felt her chest constrict, as if someone were crushing her ribs and cutting off her breath. What could she do? What should she do? How far could she go? What should she say?
Did what you were going to do... have anything to do with the result of something she had done?
Yuna wasn't someone who hid things with malicious intent; Yuna was not someone who lied, much less someone who wanted to cause pain to the people she loved. But Yuna was someone who made mistakes, someone who made bad decisions, and someone who, deep down in her heart, feared losing the people closest to her because of those bad decisions. Yuna was someone who constantly carried regrets and low self-esteem, which she usually hid behind the impartial role she played in people's lives. Yuna would never hurt a family member, friend, or loved one on purpose with her actions; she would never hide something from them that would cause them great pain...
Or so she wanted to believe.
Because now, with her heart in her throat and her breath short, looking at you ready to walk out that door, pushed into a reality that perhaps you didn't yet have to face, Yuna could see that many of her beliefs were beginning to crumble.
Perhaps she was someone who deliberately hid things, causing long-term collateral damage; as if slowing down time before detonating a grenade. Perhaps she was someone who consciously made bad decisions and then worried every day about their consequences. Perhaps she was a complacent person; fearful of the loneliness of rejection.
Perhaps Yuna had malicious behaviors. Intentional or not, she had them.
And that didn't make her as good a person as she wanted to believe. It made her doubt herself. Think twice about her next words. Question her ideals. Practice her steps. Repeat the words of others in her head. Plan a response to each accusation; a justification she knew would have no basis and would never be accepted—
“Yuna.”
“Huh?”
“Don't worry so much,” you said, already wearing your jacket and carrying a small white bag over your left shoulder. Your hand was on her shoulder, the physical contact completely taking her out of her head, realizing she had wasted valuable minutes overthinking. Unlike a couple of minutes ago, your eyes were a little warmer and your expression became a little kinder.
“I don't want you to be alone.”
She barely whispered it, but she knew you had heard her clearly.
What would happen now?
You dropped your hand, your expression becoming indescribable in a matter of seconds. It seemed like you were processing her words, no different from what you would have heard on any other day when Yuna tried to comfort you. But as always, Yuna expected you to smile and downplay the situation, your feelings, putting up that invisible emotional wall and taking away the chance for that friendship to blossom into something different; into something more unconditional.
“I don't think it's something you need to be so worried about, really.”
The words she was hoping for were there.
“Doesn't this have something to do with your attitude over the last few days?”
Yuna blurted out the words without even taking a moment to make sure they were the right ones, and even though her body froze and her nerves froze too when you stopped halfway to the door, she continued talking without thinking twice.
“I know you're trying to hide it, but you look more tired every day. And I know it's more than just the books. Why don't you...?” Yuna swallowed, finding that she preferred to have you in front of her rather than face the uncertainty of your reaction to her words with your back to her. She took a deep breath, cursing how much an issue that might be trivial to many people affected her, and fearing the fact that she believed she might actually be the one to lose the most from this conversation. Still, she didn't want to continue standing idly by. “Why don't you want to tell me? I... I'm your friend. I'm here to support you. You can tell me anything—”
“Stop.”
Your voice was sharp.
But Yuna's erratic heart calmed down a little when you took a deep breath, and when you turned around, she realized that your expression wasn't as upset as she thought. It was something else... a little annoyed, hopeless, like someone who was also hiding things, but only things that affected herself.
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
...
“Huh?”
"This is something I wanted to forget at all costs. And I tried. So much time had passed that I truly believed I had gotten over it. But recently I've realized that everything is still very fresh and that no matter how hard I try, even if I want to convince myself that I feel that peace, I'll never really feel it until I can put an end to this once and for all. Every time I've felt that I can move on... that I can heal, I've encountered another obstacle and another problem and more... uncertainty that won't let me rest. I haven't been able to rest. That's why I want to do this. I need to do this. I feel like it's... the only way."
Yuna swallowed hard, unable to take her eyes off the vulnerable expression on your face. She swore she had never seen so many emotions on your face, except when you talked about your books. Her head seemed to be overheating, wondering if what she had just heard was really true.
“I promise that when I come back, I'll tell you everything.”
Confidence. Overflowing confidence was what came from you, what Yuna could see in your eyes and in the sincere smile you gave her. And while it was what she most wanted to hear from you, she couldn't find relief within herself. On the contrary, her guilt intensified, and she knew her face was betraying her, but she couldn't control it. What was she supposed to say now? What would you say if you found out? Would you keep smiling like nothing was wrong and tell her that everything was going to be okay? Would you turn your back on her, calling her a traitor? Was Yuna now worthy of that trust?
“Stop worrying.”
Yuna felt worse when she realized that you had taken her internal dilemma as an expression of her continued concern about what you were going to do, and a lump formed in her throat. God, why did she have to be such a coward?
“Call me if you need anything. And let me know when you arrive and when you leave.”
That was all Yuna could say. She felt breathless, waiting for the worst to happen at any moment; for you to turn around and point the finger at her as the culprit, as the traitor, as someone who hurt her deliberately. All the things she never wanted to be and now couldn't help but see when she looked at her reflection in your eyes.
“Okay. See you later.”
Yuna stood in the middle of the room with her mind blank and her gaze fixed on the door you had closed behind you. The silence was devastating. Her inner turmoil grew as time passed, and she had no idea what to do. Worse still, she began to wonder what would happen if you found out from someone else. Were her days already numbered? Why hadn't she said anything before? Why had she kept quiet? If she hadn't, maybe she could've avoided some of this, spared you some discomfort, prevented you from feeling so hopeless that you no longer knew what to do to find peace...
Perhaps because she had started to hyperventilate, she hadn't noticed who had opened the door after a couple of minutes.
“What's wrong?”
Yuna blinked and Seojun materialized in front of the entrance, frowning. Yuna stared back at him, paralyzed, and tried to compose herself as quickly as possible. She didn't know how long she had been standing there or how long he might've seen her in that trance. She closed and opened her fists at her sides and tried to relax her shoulders, feigning a more carefree look.
“Nothing. What are you doing here?”
Seojun looked at her suspiciously as he left his shoes at the entrance and slipped into the slippers his mother always left next to hers for when he came to visit. He was wearing a large jacket and carrying several bags in both arms. His frown didn't leave him even when he was standing in front of her.
“I bought dinner. But I don't think there's enough food for you.”
Yuna raised her eyebrows, appreciating the moment to distract herself for a second, knowing she couldn't show that vulnerability so easily, and looked between your brother and the number of bags he was carrying. “Are you insane? You're carrying the equivalent of a month's worth of groceries. You selfish idiot!”
Seojun rolled his eyes at her and, ignoring her, walked past her toward the kitchen. While calling out to his parents, Yuna took a moment to truly calm down. It was very difficult to try to have a normal conversation with her nerves on edge and her emotions about to overflow from her heart; she had to control herself or someone would notice something and she would lose everything. Especially someone like Seojun, who, although he seemed to be the most distracted and disinterested person in the world, was actually very picky and observant; Yuna knew this because the more time she spent with him, the more she realized that he was overly perceptive, especially with other people's emotions, even though he tried to give the opposite impression.
He was also very suspicious, seeming to distrust everyone, but only when it came to his family. It seemed to be something that ran in the blood of everyone here.
Anyway, she just had to take a deep breath. She still had to come up with a solution; she had to make a decision... she had to think it through carefully before acting.
“Noona!!” Seojun shouted again from the kitchen, and at that moment Yuna took one last deep breath before turning around and facing life once more.
“Stop yelling like a madman. y/n left.”
“What? Where?”
“What do you care?”
“You can't eat her food!” Seojun gave Yuna's hand a light slap when she tried to take the package of dumplings, and she just laughed in response.
“Well, do whatever you want, kiddo. We'll see what your parents say about it.”
Seojun grumbled silently. Yuna enjoyed watching him set the table, which didn't happen as often as one might think. She wondered why he had brought so much food and why he had left his college dorm on a Thursday night.
“Didn't y/n say where she was really going?”
“If you want, call her,” Yuna replied, grabbing a snack as his parents came down from the second floor.
“Argh,” Seojun shot her an annoyed look, deciding to leave the four plates on the table anyway. “Well, noona is always careful.”
Yuna watched him silently, lost in her own worries. At that moment, she received a message from you informing her that you had arrived at your destination safe and sound. Now she just had to wait for you to text her that you were on your way back, and hopefully everything would be fine. That way, Yuna would only have to worry about the things that had already happened and not about what could get worse if that didn't work out.
Was she being selfish? Thoughtless? A bad friend?
Good God. Why did everything have to be so complicated?
“Can you turn on the TV?”
Yuna shook her head and quickly moved to steal a dumpling from Seojun before running to the living room. With his reprimanding voice in the background, Yuna smiled and grabbed the white remote to change the channel that her parents always listened to while they ate dinner, the seven o'clock news.
“...it was just released a couple of hours ago, but it's already hovering around fifty million views on YouTube.”
Yuna left the TV on as background noise while everyone gathered at the table for dinner. She definitely wanted to stop thinking, to try to enjoy that moment with a sincere heart and not with the guilt of a mistake she wanted to attribute to bad faith.
“... his presence on our show is welcome, as always. This is ‘Still with You’ by Jungkook.”
Yuna let herself be carried away by the conversation.
That day, that moment
If I had known it would be like this
I would've kept more of them in my memories...
-
Jimin knew he had bad impulses, terrible behavior, and an unhealthy need to please. It was the result of bad habits, perhaps traumas he didn't usually dwell on, and his tendency to be self-conscious. Lately, he hadn't thought too much about those kinds of things. He kept them locked away in a worn chest at the back of his mind, on an island in the middle of a vast ocean. Impossible to reach, even for his own mind.
But with all these recent events... it seemed as if the ocean had dried up.
Anxiety was eating away at him. Perhaps it had been since that day several years ago when he made a crucial decision that turned out to be in vain. His opinion didn't matter; his complaints, his pleas... the tears that would break anyone's heart. Nothing mattered. What was the point of giving someone the ability to decide if everything would ultimately turn against him? What was the purpose of that unfounded hope? To leave everything to chance, to believe that everyone would think like him, that they would have the same dream, the same need.
No. Jimin was left alone. Betrayed. With a resentful and fearful heart.
Jimin didn't want to dare to say he knew how you felt... but maybe he knew at least a quarter of it.
All that, however, wasn't the only thing. That his decision wasn't decisive and that it led him to carry years of anger and resentment wasn't a convincing enough excuse or justification. After all, Jimin had made other decisions he was not proud of. There were still things he was ashamed to remember or even acknowledge.
Staying was one of the most difficult decisions he had ever made. It was also the one he regretted the most.
And if he had left, that would also have been the most difficult decision of his life and the one he would regret the most forever.
Jimin felt that he had grown up in a very unstable world. Each person lived their own experiences and developed their own personalities based on them. Each experience was a trait. For Jimin, there was hardly a moment in his life when he had not experienced anxiety, despair, and unease. Every day he regretted something different, more than he was grateful for the things he had. His decisions had given him as much as they had taken away, but he knew that if he had made the opposite decisions, he would be thinking exactly the same thing.
Even so... Jimin gave it his best shot.
Despite everything, despite the bad decisions, the ones he regretted, the things he had done and the things he hadn't done, Jimin had to keep going. He had to swallow the bitter pill of the reality he had shaped for himself and keep walking the path he had carved out. And with the best of smiles. If no one saw that he was having a hard time, no one around him would have a hard time.
And if he could prevent someone else from having a hard time, as hard as he had ten years ago, then he would do what he thought was right.
Whether it was a good or bad decision, it was the one he had made, because he believed it was the right thing to do.
His phone vibrated on the table. He looked at the time with a sinking heart. It was past eight.
The restaurant was empty. Only Jimin was there with his regrets.
When Namjoon had told him the night before that he couldn't accept his invitation to meet you, his world had fallen apart once again. He had a golden opportunity! Why did he have to waste it? How would Namjoon know it wouldn't be good? And he wouldn't be breaking his promise because he wasn't the one who initiated the meeting, and because Namjoon was smart enough to know that he wouldn't listen to him.
... right?
Be that as it may, Jimin accepted your invitation. With Namjoon or without Namjoon, he would be there. At the expense of the others... definitely. That didn't sound good at all when Jimin returned to that thought every seven minutes; how would the others react if they knew where he was, what he was going to do, and how he hadn't told them?
That was one regret.
The excuse Jimin kept repeating to himself wasn't really valid, but he did it because deep down he felt he had made the right decision. Maybe he wouldn't leave here as your best friend, but if he could get even a quarter of your attention to give you what he had wanted to give and do ten years ago, he could die happy leaving that restaurant.
Namjoon had already texted him about four times. Jimin kept looking at his phone, hoping that one of those notifications would be from you, telling him that you were on your way, that you were close, that you were almost there—
“Mr. Park.”
One of the waiters called him. The blond quickly looked up in his direction, scanning the place and the scene, hoping to find a familiar face.
“Your guest has arrived. We will begin serving dinner.”
“Wait. Where is she?”
The waiter pointed behind him and then walked away toward the kitchen. Jimin had gotten up from the table, his hand outstretched when he asked, and it began to tremble in the air. He swallowed quickly, trying to calm his heart, trying to convince himself again that he wasn't wrong, that what he was doing wasn't wrong if you wanted to be here too. He clenched his hand into a fist and brought it to his chest, forcing his body to even out his breathing and sink the anxiety that was beginning to constrict his lungs.
He looked where the waiter had pointed, a curve that prevented him from seeing beyond. This was one of the most exclusive restaurants in the city, located on a high hill that offered a serene view of the city. It was built in an oval shape, and Jimin had reserved the entire place for that night. But he had to go around that curve to find you, and suddenly he felt as if his feet were glued to the ground. The red carpet that guided the main path around the restaurant, joining at each end, had never felt so terrifying.
But he could hear your footsteps getting closer and closer. Slow. Calm. It seemed like you were admiring the place.
That sound allowed him to take a deep breath.
He tried to repeat to himself that he wasn't doing anything wrong. That he wasn't being selfish. That he wouldn't care if they bombarded him with questions when he got to the penthouse later.
He tried to convince himself that he was making the right decision.
For you. For him. For everyone.
“Jimin.”
But he wasn't ready to hear your voice calling him again and realize that it was nothing like it had been before.
Jimin thought he heard glass breaking. Whether it was in his head or not, he didn't know. He had closed his eyes for a moment and felt that if he opened them, he would be filled with that panic once again. Maybe his illusions had been shattered by the icy tone of voice you used when you spoke to him; maybe something had broken in the kitchen.
He wasn't gullible. He knew he couldn't expect anything else. He clearly remembered what Jungkook had told them about that time he went to find you when he shouldn't have; he remembered his eyes full of pain and the regret reflected in his own. Maybe this was what he felt. The coldness of indifference and the despair of remorse.
Jimin wanted nothing more than for time to be a material thing that he could pull between his hands to return to the moment when all this misery began.
To return to the moment when everything broke; when they lost everything.
how would bts react to reader taking off their ring after an argument?
💌 Reply:
first (as always)... THANK YOU for this achingly human request. I hope these headcanons carried what you wanted 🥺
And I am so so sorry for the late reply!
Life decided to get wildly ironic... because I wrote this while sittin in our vacation house bedroom on bf's parents’ 25th wedding anniversary trip 😭
If this resonated (or hurt just right), my DMs are open. Always....
— c —🌙
BTS Reacting to You Taking Off Your Ring After an Argument
Pairings: BTS(solo) x reader
Rating: PG (13) up to R (emotionally heavy conflict, marital strife, swearing)
Genre: angst, hurt/comfort, romance, fluff
Warnings: marital conflict, emotional breakdowns, abandonment fears, (self-harm implications), manipulative behavior, panic attacks/anxiety
KIM NAMJOON
HOW IT HAPPENS
after a brutal fight
= one of those rare but seismic clashes where your words land like stones
his rebuttals are too measured, too logical
that only fuels your frustration
you storm out to cool off
when you return hours later, you slip off your ring and leave it on the kitchen counter like a surrender
Namjoon notices immediately
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
his breath hitches
his fingers, which had been flipping through a book, still
the air in the room shifts (thick, charged)
Verbal
he doesn’t yell
he doesn’t even speak
just stares at the ring like it’s a puzzle he can’t solve
“You took it off.”
his voice is low
frayed at the edges
it's not accusatory
just hollow
HIS THOUGHTS
First
“Did I push her to this? Was I too cold? Too rational?”
Second
“Is this it? Is she leaving?”
his chest tightens at the thought
Third
“No. No, we can fix this. We have to.”
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Retreats to His Study
tho not to ignore you
it's to process
he journals frantically
= pages filled with half-formed thoughts:
“Love isn’t a debate. Why did I treat it like one?”
“I can’t lose her. Not like this.”
Leaves You Space
doesn’t chase
doesn’t bombard you with texts
doesn’t leave the house either
just lingers in the periphery
like a quiet presence
Note
slides a handwritten letter under your door
not as an apology
as a promise:
“I don’t know how to fight for you with words that don’t sound like lectures.
But I know this: I’d rather lose every argument than lose you.
The ring is just metal. You’re the treasure.
— Joon”
HOW HE MAKES AMENDS
Ring’s Return
finds you curled on the couch at dawn
kneels in front of you
ring pinched between his fingers
“Let me?”
his voice cracks
if you let him, he’ll slide it back on
his thumb brushing your knuckle like a prayer
Changed Behavior
starts asking how you feel before diving into logic
leaves his debates for the bookshelf
Symbolic Gesture
buys a chain and wears his own ring around his neck
“So I never forget what matters.”
KIM SEOKJIN (JIN)
HOW IT HAPPENS
it starts over something stupid
maybe you accused him of forgetting your anniversary
plot: he didn’t; he’s just bad at hiding surprises, or maybe really good
his sarcasm escalates it
before you know it, you’re yelling
“You never take anything seriously!”
he fires back
“Oh, I’m deadly serious... about how ridiculous you’re being!”
you rip off your ring mid-sentence and slam it on the coffee table
the metallic clink cuts through the room like a gunshot
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
his smirk freeze
his hands, which had been gesturing dramatically, drop to his sides
Verbal
sharp, humorless laugh
“Wow. Okay. Dramatic.”
his voice is too tight, his jaw clenched
HIS THOUGHTS
First
“Shit. Did I push too far?”
Second
“She actually took it off. Is she… done?”
his stomach lurches
Third
“Nope. Nope. We’re fixing this.”
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Deflection Mode
turns on the TV too loud
pretending to watch a drama
“Oh, this is a good part... look, the main couple is fighting too! See? Normal!”
Late-Night Surrender
at 3 AM
he barges into the bedroom
you’re pretending to sleep
flicks on the light
“Yah. Look at me.”
his eyes are red-rimmed
his hair a mess
“You win. Just… put the damn ring back on.”
Peace Offering
drops a velvet box on the nightstand
inside a new ring
this one with a tiny diamond
“The old one was ‘pre-argument’ jewelry. This one’s post-argument. Upgraded.”
WHAT HE SAYS
Defensive
“You’re really gonna let one fight undo years of my flawless husbandry?”
Vulnerable (Rare)
“I’m sorry, okay? I’ll… I’ll be less me.”
he doesn’t mean it
Playful (Recovery)
“Also, the new ring is non-refundable. So. Legally, you have to stay.”
HOW HE MAKES AMENDS
Overcompensates
plans a ridiculous “re-anniversary” date
= horse-drawn carriage, rose petals,
“Happy Not-The-Day-I-Pissed-You-Off!”
Learns to Listen
starts asking stuff
“Wait... are we actually fighting, or are you just moody?”
Secret Insecurity
starts wearing his ring even in public
MIN YOONGI (SUGA)
HOW IT HAPPENS
early in your marriage
maybe six months in
the honeymoon phase crashes into reality
Yoongi’s been buried in the studio for days
he is ignoring texts, forgetting anniversaries
even snapping when you ask for one dinner together
he came home at 3 AM to find you waiting
hurt simmering into anger
the fight is ugly
You: “You care more about your songs than me!”
Him: “I’m working! Why can’t you understand that?”
voice like gravel
eyes blazing
you yank off your expensive ring mid-sentence
slamming it onto the coffee table
the clink echoes like a gunshot
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
his whole body locks up
his hands curl into fists
veins stark against his pale skin
studio-light glare from his laptop paints his face in harsh shadows
Verbal
a sharp, wounded noise escapes him
speaks coldly
“Fine. Do that.”
turns away
his shoulders are rigid
HIS THOUGHTS
White-Hot Fury
“She’s giving up? Just like that?”
mad at you, at himself, at the damn ring for existing
Self-Loathing
“I knew I’d fuck this up. Knew it.”
Panic
“Is this over? Is she leaving?”
his stomach drops
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Storm-Out
grabs his keys
heads for the door
stops halfway, slamming his palm into the wall
“Fuck.”
Studio Meltdown
drives to HYBE
trashes a demo out of sheer frustration
leter sits on the floor, head in hands
texts you: “Come get me. Please.”
deletes it
sends instead thet he is at the studio
Breaking Point
when you do show up (because you always do)
he’s a mess
red-eyed, hair wild, voice raw.
“I don’t know how to do this. The… the marriage thing.”
HOW YOU BOTH COME BACK TOGETHER
you stand in the doorway
arms crossed
ring still absent
“You don’t get to run. Ever.”
he chokes out a laugh, wet and broken
“Yeah. Yeah, I know.”
he reaches for you
fingers trembling
“I’m trying. But I need you to... fuck...”
his voice cracks
“Just. Don’t take it off again.”
you cry
he cries... YES
it’s messy and real and therapeutic
AFTERMATH
New Rules
he sets alarms for “Wife Time” on his phone
you agree to “No Ring Removal” as a nuclear option
The Ring’s Return
he slides it back onto your finger himself
lips brushing your knuckle
“Mine, even when I’m an idiot.”
Growth
starts leaving the studio at midnight no matter what
texts you lyrics instead of apologies
“You’re my bridge. Without you, the song falls apart.”
JUNG HOSEOK (J-HOPE)
HOW IT HAPPENS
fight starts over something stupid
maybe he canceled plans for work again
or you snapped about his relentless optimism when you just needed to vent
it escalates
for once, his sunshine dims
he shouts
you shout back
when the dust settles, you twist off your ring and set it on the nightstand with a quiet clink
he freezes mid-sentence
his expression drops like a stone
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
his hands fly to his mouth
muffling a noise that’s half-gasp, half-sob
tears well up instantly
= big, glistening ones that spill over before he can stop them
“Y-You… you took it off?”
Verbal
voice cracking
high-pitched with panic
“No, no, no... hey, hey, we can fix this! Please!”
HIS THOUGHTS
First
“I broke us. I did this.”
cue internal screaming
Second
“How do I fix it? What do I do?”
his brain is short-circuiting into overdrive
Third
“Anything. I’ll do anything.”
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Breakdown
sobs into his hands for a solid minute
shoulders shaking
like a switch flips
he springs into action
Grand Gesture
floods the room with roses
like, obscenely many
every color
bed looks like a florist exploded
orders your favorite food
even if it’s 3 AM
he has to beg a restaurant to reopen
“Extra spicy, extra cheese... whatever she wants!”
spa mode
draws a bubble bath with excessive petals
lights every candle in the house
plays his “Chill Vibes” playlist
“Just... just relax! I’ll massage your feet! Your back! Your soul!”
Pleading
kneels by the tub
eyes red-rimmed
holding the ring out like a sacred offering
“I’ll be better. I promise. Just… put it back on. Please.”
WHAT HE SAYS:
Desperate
“I’ll quit the tour. I’ll... I’ll retire! Just talk to me!”
he doesn’t mean it
he thinks he does in the moment
Raw
“You’re my person. Without you, I’m just… noise.”
Hopeful
“Let’s start over. Right now. Hi, I’m Jung Hoseok. Will you marry me? Again?”
AFTERMATH
Clingy for Days
fllows you around like a puppy
“Do you need water? A hug? A song?”
Overcompensates
turns into a mind reader
brings you coffee before you wake up
texts hourly “I love you” updates
Real Change
starts asking things
“Do you need me to listen or fix it?”
then diving into cheerleader mode
PARK JIMIN
HOW IT HAPPENS
the fight is ugly
you both say words like "You never listen!" and "I can’t do this anymore!"
throwinf them like knives
he is usually so gentle
matches your intensity with his own
his voice cracking with frustration
you storm out
he doesn’t follow
you return hours later
you slide off your ring, leaving it on the nightstand like a white flag
Jimin sees it immediately
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
his breath stutters
tears well up instantly
he doesn’t wipe them away
just stares at the ring like it’s a grenade
"You... you took it off?"
his voice is small, shattered
Emotional
whirlwind of guilt and fear
"Did I push too hard? Did I break us?"
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Silent Breakdown
sinks to the floor beside the bed
knees pulled to his chest
presses his palms to his eyes
shoulders shaking
"Fuck. Fuck."
Relentless Texts (If You Left)
"Please come home."
"I didn’t mean any of it. None of it."
"I’ll wait all night."
Raw Apology (If You Stayed)
crawls into bed beside you
not touching, just to be there
voice raw
"I hate myself for making you feel like you had to do that."
HOW HE MAKES AMENDS
Ring’s Return
when you finally face each other
he cradles your hand
pressing the ring into your palm
"Put it back when you’re ready. Or don’t. But I’m not going anywhere."
Touch as Truce
brushes your tears away with his thumbs
"I’m sorry. I’m so sorry."
if you let him, he’ll pull you into his lap
arms locked around you like a vow
"We’re okay. We’re always okay."
Changed Behavior
starts asking "Are we good?" after minor spats
needs reassurance
leaves sticky notes: "Today’s reminder: I adore you. Even when I’m stupid."
KIM TAEHYUNG (V)
HOW IT HAPPENS
fight starts over something trivial
maybe you criticized his impulsive plan to road-trip to Busan at 2 AM
or he forgot (again) to tell you about a last-minute photoshoot
it escalates
words sharpening like knives.
he hates confrontation, especially with you
deflects with humor until you snap
“You don’t take anything seriously!”
that’s when you yank off your ring and toss it onto the dresser with a clatter
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
his entire body freezes
his playful smirk drops like a stone
he looks scared
Verbal
sharp, wounded laugh
“Wow. Okay. So we’re here now.”
his voice is light
his hands are fists at his sides
HIS THOUGHTS
First
“She’s really doing this. After everything?”
his mind flashes to lazy Sundays
to the way he always kisses that ring before leaving for work
Second
“Fine. If she wants to play that game...”
it's his anger
= theatrical, all-or-nothing
Third
“…Wait. No. This isn’t a game.”
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Grand Exit
grabs his keys and stalks out
slamming the door
drives to Han River and screams into the sunset like a K-drama hero
Symbolic Gesture
texts you a photo of his ring in his palm
captioned: “Should I throw it in the water? Be dramatic like you?”
he won’t
he wants you to panic a little
Return:
comes home with two new rings
thicker, engraved with “Yours, Idiot” and “Mine, Dummy”
drops them on the bed
“Pick one. Or don’t. But I’m not going anywhere.”
HOW HE MAKES AMENDS
Apology
doesn’t say “I’m sorry.”
he cooks your favorite meal (burning half of it)
plays your song on saxophone off-key
“Happy fake anniversary.”
= it’s not your anniversary; that’s the point
Promise
wears both rings on a chain for a week
“So you see I mean it.”
Growth
starts leaving Post-its with “I’ll be back at 8” or “Don’t wait up"
his little ways to say “I’m trying.”
JEON JUNGKOOK
HOW IT HAPPENS
the fight was bad, like ugly bad
= the kind that’s been brewing for months
maybe the marriage was rushed
= fans’ backlash, his chaotic schedule, your quiet resentment
when you finally snap and fling your ring onto the hotel bathroom counter
the clink echoes like a gunshot, even worse
Jungkook freezes mid-pace
muscles coiled
“What the fuck was that?”
HIS IMMEDIATE REACTION
Physical
he’s across the room in two strides
snatching the ring like it’s a lifeline
his knuckles whiten around it
“No. No. You don’t get to do this.”
Emotional
anger flares first
always, because fear wears his rage like armor
“You promised! We fought for this!”
his voice is raw
HIS THOUGHTS
First
“Was it the fans? The hate comments? Did I fail her?”
Second
“I’ll delete everythinf. I’ll quit the group. Fuck it all.”
Third
“Please. Not like this.”
WHAT HE DOES NEXT
Meltdown
kicks a chair (regrets it instantly)
texts his manager: “Cancel everything.”
Silence
disappears for hours
returns with red-rimmed eyes and a plan
Grand Gesture:
RE-PROPOSAL
Setting
rooftop of your first apartment together
fairy lights
no cameras
just him, shaking
What He Says
“I was an idiot. I thought marrying you was enough. But love’s not a ring, it’s every damn day choosing us.”
You weren't lovers. You weren't friends.
They were just two strangers who shared one unforgettable night. Until a small life growing inside your belly changed everything.
Pairing : Kim seokjin x Reader
Genre : Cozy romance, smut, accidental pregnancy, fluff, domestic, couple, found family, emotional, sad, heartbreak, romance, rom-com, marriage
taglist: @seokjins-bride
The hospital room became a blur of endless white walls, the soft hum of the monitor, and the heavy, quiet ticking of the wall clock. True to Sana's words, Jin didn't step foot inside the room again for the remainder of your stay.
Every time you woke up from your medicated sleep, your eyes would instantly dart to the frosted glass door, hoping to see his broad silhouette, but it was always just Sana sitting faithfully by your bedside, or Hoseok walking in with a quiet, sympathetic sigh.
"He's right outside, Y/N," Sana whispered gently one evening, brushing a stray lock of hair from your pale forehead. Her voice was soft, laced with a deep sadness for both of you. "He hasn't left the hospital. He’s the one handling all the paperwork, paying the bills, and speaking with the doctors. And every time the nurses say you’ve fallen asleep... he slips in. He sits by your side, holds your hand, and kisses your forehead while you sleep. But the second you stir... he leaves. He just... he doesn't have the courage to look into your eyes while you're awake. He feels like he failed you."
Hearing that only made the ache in your chest deepen. You wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault, that you needed him, but your own grief was a heavy, suffocating weight that kept you pinned to the bed.
When you were finally discharged a few days later, Jin wasn't the one who drove you home. Hoseok and Sana brought you back to the quiet penthouse.
The apartment felt completely different now, cold, vast, and hauntingly empty. The door to the spare room, the one Jin had excitedly planned to paint lavender just days ago, was firmly shut.
Jin was dealing with the trauma in his own, devastating way.
The powerful, unshakeable CEO of Onyx company completely vanished. He didn't go to work. He didn't answer his phone. The corporate empire he had built didn't matter to him anymore. Instead, he locked himself away in his private study at the far end of the penthouse, or vanished into the city for hours, walking aimlessly through the cold streets.
He became a ghost in his own home.
Every afternoon, Hoseok would show up at the penthouse, his usual bright energy replaced by a fierce, protective determination. He would walk straight past the living room, giving you a sad, reassuring nod, before heading to the study to drag Jin out.
From the hallway, you could hear Hoseok’s muffled, firm voice through the heavy wood. "Seokjin-ah, open the door. You need to eat. You haven't touched a single thing in two days. Come on, Hyung. Get up. Let's go get some soup."
A few minutes later, the door would click open, and Jin would step out. Your heart broke completely at the sight of him. He had lost weight, his jawline looking sharp and hollow. His usual perfectly styled hair was messy, and his eyes, the eyes that used to look at you with so much fierce, possessive love were completely bloodshot and dead to the world.
He would glance toward the living room where you sat, his gaze lingering on you for a fragile, agonizing second, filled with a raw, unspoken apology. But before you could stand up or call out his name, he would quickly look away, letting Hoseok guide him out the front door by his shoulder.
The two of you were drowning in the exact same sea of grief, living under the exact same roof, yet separated by a vast, heartbreaking ocean of guilt and unspoken pain.
The silence of the penthouse had become a physical weight, crushing whatever strength you had left. A full week had passed since the world fractured, and with every day that Jin slipped further into the shadows, a new, terrifying kind of grief began to take root in your chest.
Anxiety tore through your mind in ruthless waves. You looked around the vast, quiet bedroom, the empty space beside you on the mattress feeling larger than ever. What if this is over? The thought was a sickening, cold knife to the heart.
Your marriage had started under the sudden, whirlwind umbrella of a secret pregnancy. It was the baby that had brought him to his knees, the baby that had bound your lives together so tightly. But now... there was no baby.
Did he look at you and only see the loss? Did he regret it all?
The agonizing spiral of your own thoughts became too much to bear. You wept silently into your pillow, the hot tears soaking the linen until your body grew completely exhausted from the strain, and you finally drifted into a heavy, restless sleep.
°
Hours later, the bedroom door clicked open with agonizing slowness.
The room was bathed in the dim, silver glow of the midnight moon. Jin stepped inside, his movements completely silent, like a ghost haunting his own life. He looked completely worn down, his broad shoulders slumped as he approached the side of the bed. He dropped to his knees on the plush rug, just like he had done every single night while you slept.
Slowly, his large, trembling hand reached out. His thumb was incredibly gentle as he wiped away the track of a dried tear from your pale cheek. He leaned in, his eyes closed as he pressed a soft, lingering, and deeply broken kiss to your cheekbone, letting out a ragged, silent breath against your skin.
But this time, the sudden warmth broke through the fog of your exhaustion. Your eyelashes fluttered, and your eyes snapped open.
Jin froze.
The moment his dark, bloodshot eyes met yours in the moonlight, a flash of pure, panicking terror washed over his handsome features.
The guilt suffocated him instantly. He choked back a gasp, immediately straightening up and stumbling backward, his instinct screaming at him to run, to flee back into the dark corridor before he could cause you any more pain.
But you were faster.
Before he could pull away, your hand shot out from beneath the duvet. Your fingers wrapped fiercely around his thick wrist, your grip tight and desperate.
"Don't," you choked out, your voice cracking with a week's worth of unshed words. "Jin, please... don't run away from me again."
Jin’s entire body went rigid. He stood paralyzed at the edge of the bed, his back half-turned to you, his chest heaving violently as he tried to look anywhere but at your face. His wrist trembled within your grasp, but he didn't pull away.
"Y/N... let go," he whispered, his voice a broken, gravelly rasp that sounded entirely unhinged. "You shouldn't look at me. I can't... I can't be here right now."
"Look at me, Seokjin!" you cried out, the raw emotion tearing from your chest as you sat up, using your grip on his wrist to force him to turn around. Tears instantly blurred your vision again. "Are you leaving me? Is this over because we lost her? Please, just tell me if you don't want this marriage anymore!"
The words slammed into Jin like a physical blow. His head snapped toward you, his dark eyes wide with absolute horror and shock at what you had just said.
"What?" he breathed, his voice cracking completely. "What are you saying, Y/N?"
"You won't look at me! You won't stay in the same room as me!" you sobbed openly, your fingers tightening around his wrist until your knuckles turned white. "We got married because of the baby, Jin. And now she's gone... and you're gone too. I'm so scared that you're going to leave me because there's nothing keeping you here anymore!"
A violent, agonizing sob finally tore out from deep within Jin’s chest. The walls he had built up over the past week completely crumbled to dust in a single second.
"No! No, mama, never!" he cried out, his voice a raw, echoing wail of pure grief.
He didn't try to run anymore. Jin collapsed forward, falling heavily onto his knees right on the edge of the mattress. He threw his large, powerful arms around your waist, burying his face completely into your lap. His broad shoulders shook violently as he wept, his hands clutching desperately at the fabric of your nightgown, anchoring himself to you as if he were a drowning man.
"How can you think that?" Jin choked out through his violent sobs, his hot tears soaking straight through the fabric against your thighs. "I didn't run because I wanted to leave you. I ran because I'm a coward! Every time I look at you, I see how much pain you're in, and I know I couldn't protect our little girl. I failed you, Y/N. I failed our family."
He lifted his head, his face completely drenched in tears, looking up at you with a raw, agonizing vulnerability that broke your heart.
"I didn't marry you just because of the baby," Jin whispered fiercely, his large hands moving up to cup your jaw, his thumbs wiping away your tears even as his own poured down. "I married you because I fell so deeply in love with you that I couldn't breathe without you. I don't care about the penthouse, I don't care about the company... I only care about you. Please don't ever think I would leave you. I need you, Y/N. Please... I need my wife."
Hearing his confession, the suffocating anxiety that had plagued you for days completely vanished, replaced by a profound, aching relief. You leaned forward, throwing your arms around his neck and pulling him tightly against you as the two of you held each other in the dark room, finally sharing the exact same grief, together.
°
The weeks that followed settled into a quiet, heavy rhythm. The raw, screaming agony of the first few days slowly gave way to a dull, echoing ache, a period of slow, deliberate grieving. A profound silence took over the penthouse, the kind that makes the ticking of a clock sound like a heartbeat.
The nursery door remained closed, a silent monument to the future you had envisioned, but it was no longer a wall between you and Jin.
Instead of hiding in the dark corners of the apartment, you and Jin stayed glued together. You slept in his arms every night, waking up to the reassuring, steady thrum of his heart beneath your cheek. He didn't go back to the work right away, choosing instead to handle only what was absolutely necessary from the kitchen table, his eyes constantly tracking you whenever you moved through the room.
Jezi seemed to understand the heavy fog that had settled over her humans. Jezi usually so content to just lounge on her rug, became fiercely attentive. She would pad over to the sofa where you and Jin sat enveloped in a shared blanket, dropping her favorite squeaky toy right onto your laps. When neither of you moved, she would let out a soft, huffing whine, nudging Jin’s hand with her nose until he let out a breathless, fragile chuckle and scratched behind her ears. She wouldn't leave until she saw the faint ghost of a smile touch your lips, resting her heavy chin on your knee as if keeping you grounded.
You were never truly alone in the quiet. Your inner circle refused to let the silence consume you.
Sana and Hoseok visited almost daily, bringing life back into the apartment in gentle, measured doses. Hoseok didn't force his usual explosive energy; instead, he would sit quietly on the floor, helping Jin with mindless tasks or just talking about mundane things to keep his mind occupied. Sana would cook with you, her presence a warm, steady comfort that required no explanations or forced conversations.
Your parents and Jin’s parents practically took turns keeping the household running. They arrived with tupperware containers filled with warm, nourishing stews, quietly doing the laundry and tidying up the kitchen while you and Jin rested. Jin’s mother would often sit by your side, holding your hand in a silent, maternal understanding of a pain she wished she could bear for you. Their quiet care allowed both of you the space to simply exist without the pressure of being strong.
And slowly, beautifully, the healing began. It wasn't a sudden awakening, but rather a gradual softening of the edges of your grief. As the autumn leaves withered away and the air turned crisp, biting, and freezing, you and Jin found each other all over again in the quiet spaces.
You found each other in the late-night conversations where you finally spoke her name, shedding sweet, peaceful tears instead of bitter ones. You found each other in the way Jin’s grip on your waist tightened not out of fear of losing you, but out of total, unshakeable devotion to the woman you were.
Before you knew it, the calendar bled into December, and a heavy, familiar chill settled over Seoul.
It was a Sunday afternoon when the sky finally turned a heavy, bruised grey. You were standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the living room, a warm mug of tea pressed between your palms, when the first crystalline flake drifted down from the clouds. Then another. And another.
The first snow of the year had arrived.
A pair of strong, familiar arms slid around your waist from behind, pulling your back flush against a broad, warm chest. Jin rested his chin in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning hot against your skin as he looked out at the white flakes beginning to dust the city skyline.
Exactly one year.
One year since you had desperately stepped into his car, trembling with the terrifying secret of an accidental pregnancy. One year since a whirlwind marriage had tied your life to a billionaire CEO who was a complete stranger to you. One year since you had looked up at him under the very first snow of that winter, terrified of what the future held.
So much had been given, and so much had been tragically lost. But as Jin’s large hand slid down, intertwining his long fingers tightly with yours, you didn't feel empty anymore. The space where your pregnancy had been was gone, but your heart was entirely full of him.
"One year," Jin whispered raspy against your skin, as if reading your exact thoughts. He turned his head slightly, pressing a soft, reverent kiss to your jawline. "Look at us, mama."
You smiled, a genuine, peaceful smile that reached your eyes for the first time in months. You turned around in his embrace, wrapping your arms around his neck and looking up into his beautiful, dark eyes.
The bloodshot, hollow gaze from the hospital was gone, replaced by the fierce, protective, and profoundly deep love that belonged entirely to you.
"We made it," you breathed softly, a tear of pure gratitude slipping down your cheek.
"We made it," Jin echoed, his voice thick with emotion. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a slow, deep, and deeply healing kiss under the falling snow. It wasn't a kiss born of desperation or grief, but a promise of a new beginning.
The first snow of another year was coating the world in a fresh, clean slate of white. The scar of your loss would always remain, but as you held each other tightly against the cold, you knew you were completely healed. You had started with a baby, but you had ended up with a lifetime of love.
The quiet hum of the penthouse heating was the only sound in the room, contrasting beautifully with the silent, dancing white flakes outside.
Jin pulled the thick, plush velvet blanket higher, tucking it securely around your shoulders until you were completely cocooned against his chest. His strong chin rested comfortably on the top of your head, his arms wrapped around your waist like an unyielding shield against the winter cold.
Down by your legs, Jezi had climbed onto the sofa, refusing to be left out. The big, fluffy white Samoyed had curled herself right across your lap, her heavy head resting over your knees as she let out a long, contented sigh. Her warm fur radiated a cozy, comforting heat, and your hand automatically stroked down her back in a slow, rhythmic motion.
Neither of you spoke. There was no need for words anymore. The heavy, suffocating silence of the past year had transformed into something entirely different, something peaceful, sacred, and profoundly safe.
Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, the city of Seoul was slowly being painted in a pristine blanket of white. The first snow fell in large, lazy crystals, dusting the balcony railing and the distant skyscrapers. It was the exact same view you had looked at a year ago with a heart full of terror and uncertainty. But today, as you watched the flakes drift down, the tight knot in your chest completely dissolved.
Jin’s long fingers slid under the blanket, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours. He squeezed gently, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over the back of your knuckles.
You leaned deeper into him, closing your eyes for a brief moment just to breathe in his familiar, comforting scent of cedarwood and warm linen.
You were no longer two strangers bound by a sudden twist of fate, nor were you two ghosts drowning in isolation. You were a husband and a wife who had walked through the darkest valley of grief and emerged on the other side, holding onto each other tighter than before.
Jin leaned down slightly, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the side of your neck, his lips warm against your skin. "I've got you," he whispered raspy, the deep rumble of his chest vibrating against your back. "Always."
You smiled against the blanket, squeezing his hand back as you looked out at the falling snow. The winter outside was freezing, but tucked inside his embrace, with your faithful dog in your lap and his heart beating steady against yours, you had never felt more warm.
“I love you.” You whispered against his neck.
He kissed your head and smiled, “i love you more than anything in this world.”
Previous part
A/n : And that's how their story ends 😭 they were bound together because of a baby but they ended up falling in love with each other, that even after the loss of baby, they remained in love and continued to heal each other's scars.
For me, it felt heartbreaking to write such an ending. But I wanted to write something like this, a story which is haunting yet beautiful.
Hope you guys loved it. Do leave your thoughts in asks. I want to read your thoughts and interact with the readers ❤️
Vampire AU
pairing - OT7 x reader , BTS x reader
word count - 6.6k+
summary - Wednesday passes by in a blur of awkward encounters and bookstore visits. One thing you can be sure of-- nothing is as it seems in Forks, WA. Especially where the Kims are involved. The upcoming Friday party looms over your head like a raincloud.
warnings - cussing , dissociation / mild panic attack
Dusk Masterlist
The weather is shit on Wednesday, so you offer to drive the girls again because your car is most suited for the onslaught of water.
Victoria sits in the passenger seat, scrolling on her phone absentmindedly. Naomi sits behind you, eyes on her notes and brows scrunched as Rachel drones on and on about the “dude in art” who’d taken Victoria’s place as her partner.
“For the millionth time, his name’s Jason,” Victoria sighs, clicking her phone screen off and rolling her eyes.
“Doesn’t matter,” Rachel hums, “at least Jason had the stones to be my partner.”
“You weren’t taking the assignment seriously at all, Rachel.”
“Professor Modez told us to let our hands work faster than our brains.”
Victoria snaps her mouth shut, and you work hard not to laugh at the possible comebacks she had in her arsenal.
“So,” you start, “Jason… are you like, into him?”
Rachel scoffs loudly, shaking her head rapidly, “God no. I just appreciated that he was willing to partner up.”
Victoria shoots you a look of exhaustion before facing out the passenger window, her expression changing from annoyance to bewilderment. “Jesus, how rich are they?”
You crane your neck to see who, or what, she’s looking at as you pull into the campus parking lot.
“Sheesh, that must be a new one,” Rachel whispers. “A Royce? Really?”
It’s a nice car. Expensive. You can tell just from your quick glance-over.
You pull into a spot diagonally where the “fucking Rolls-Royce Wraith,” as Rachel so adequately put it, is parked, and watch as Namjoon steps out of the driver’s seat. Yoongi (you think) exits the passenger side as a BMW pulls up next to them, and the rest of the Kims, minus Taehyung, step out of the vehicle as Seokjin shuts off the engine.
“Wow,” Rachel sighs. “Must be nice.”
You shake your head and shut your engine off, decidedly not gawking at the cars, and Kims, parked across from you. “Let’s just get to class.”
“Sure thing,” Victoria answers, following after you with Naomi and Rachel close behind.
“A fucking Wraith, Vic,” Rachel whispers, and you huff out a breath.
With Wednesday mirroring your Monday schedule, you start the day with intro. to drama once more.
You run a few minutes late, having been caught up in conversation with Victoria, so by the time the bell rings to signal the beginning of the day, you’re stuck in the closest empty seat to the door- on the side of Jungkook that Seokjin isn’t occupying. Your only other immediate option? The empty seat on the other side of Kim Seokjin. Did no one sit next to these guys ever? Really?
The differences between the two Kims are there, but it’s the similarities that captivate you during the beginning of class. Their movements are completed before you have time to register they’re happening, precise- like Jimin’s had been with the charcoal the day prior- and too smooth for how cramped the desks are. There’s a beauty to the way they move, an inhuman beauty.
“Taehyung will be upset he missed this,” Jungkook says under his breath, clearly directing the comment to Seokjin as Professor Phillips speaks about Shakespeare between the rows of desks.
“He’s probably watching French Films at home while he… gets better,” Seokjin replies quietly.
The pause was pointed, but you try your best to seem unfazed, schooling your features into those of someone paying their utmost attention to their professor, yet you can still feel the drop of the side of your mouth at the comment.
“Today, my star pupils, we’ll be running through some lines from Hamlet and Romeo and Juliet.” The class is a mix of groans and excited chatter, “Listen up, listen up… you’ll be working in groups of three. Run through the lines on the papers in front of you a few times, get comfortable with them, and pick your favorite. We’ll do some quick demonstrations before class is out,” he waits for the groans to die down this time, “and then I’ll clue you all in on your major assignment for this semester.”
You pick up the papers in front of you, moving to stand, when Jungkook clears his throat from next to you.
“You could work with us,” he offers.
Your eyes land on his, wide and confused, “What about your brother?”
You nod, catching Seokjin’s head shaking out of the corner of your eyes. “Yeah. Him.”
“He’s sick. We can always partner up with him later,” Jungkook smiles. “You can at least work with us today… only if you want to, of course.”
The way he says it feels almost like a challenge, and your heart stammers when you lift your eyes to meet Jungkook’s, finding that Seokjin is already staring you down from his side. Like he knows your answer.
“Fine.”
“Alright then.” Jungkook smirks.
Seokjin laughs lightly, the sound musical and bright, and taps the ends of his bunched papers against the desk to straighten them.
It was awkward at first, what with the brief glances you thought you caught Jungkook shooting towards the vacant seat opposite Seokjin (he’d always had his eyes right back on you or Jin the moment you’d thought you finally caught him) and the feeling of Kim Seokjin monitoring you for the entirety of the exercise.
And it’s not that that made you feel small, or lesser, or childish in any sense. You just felt more aware somehow. Of yourself and of the short distance between you and the youngest and oldest Kim. Aware of how the space curls tighter than it may be around the three of you. Aware of their stillness when they’re not running the lines prompted, or adjusting their posture after you’ve already done so twice.
You’re aware that you sit straighter. That your mind liquifies the few odd times that Jungkook decides to offer you a knowing smile and flip his stupid fucking lip ring he loves so much with his tongue when he catches you looking. And Seokjin-- yeah, he watches you. Says his lines with such carefree perfection that you find yourself hoping to see him fuck up, if only once.
An hour (and some odd Hamlet scenes) later, you start at the slight tap to your shoe, stifling your yip of surprise as you meet Jungkook’s crooked smirk. “Your turn,” he whispers.
You offer a weak smile in apology, nodding your head as you shift into your Ophelia voice,
“Good my lord,
How does your Honor for this many a day?”
Jungkook’s answering line is rehearsed with precision and the sort of emotion some professional actors can only dream of one day displaying.
“Doesn’t excelling at everything get boring?” you ask him after settling back in your seats. Thankfully, your group had not been among the three chosen to demonstrate before the class.
“Jealous?” He asks, eyebrow raised.
“Of acting? No. Never been my forte. The drawing, maybe,” you nod, referencing the shared art class from the previous day. “But not acting… I just- I can’t imagine it’s very thrilling to not have goals to work to because you’re already so perfect at everything.” You explain.
Jungkook offers a small shrug, “Maybe sometimes. I’ve also had time to practice.”
“Right,” you laugh dryly. “Because I’m supposed to believe you’re not just gifted?”
His eyebrow raises again, and he motions for you to continue.
“You don’t act like you’ve had to work for it. The talent. It’s like you just have it. Naturally, or whatever.”
Jungkook shakes his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, “or whatever,” he whispers to himself.
“So you’re not an artist?” Seokjin asks from Jungkook’s opposite side.
You sputter a laugh, “uh, no. Not exactly.” You jam a thumb Jungkook’s way, “he can attest to that.”
“It wasn’t awful,” he tries to reason.
“Don’t gas me up. It was atrocious,” you shake your head, meeting Seokjin’s eyes, “I drew Jimin completely wrong. He looked like he was going through anaphylaxis on my paper.”
“Some might call that an improvement where Jimin’s concerned,” Seokjin smiles.
“Yeah?”
Jungkook shifts into your space slowly, the smell of him- cherries and frosted pine- hits you like a train. “Jin and Jimin bicker a lot,” he explains.
“We do not,” Jin snaps quickly and quietly, folding his papers neatly into his notebook as Professor Phillips winds down the class. The major assessment, you learn, is getting in groups of four and performing an entire act from a play of your choosing.
“They’re bickering currently. He’s touchy on it, clearly,” Jungkook smirks, leaning over to press a reassuring hand against Jin’s shoulder. “It’s okay, Jin. Namjoon will mediate later, like always, and I’m sure Jimin will give your earbuds back to you.”
Jin narrows his eyes at Jungkook, but whispers in a tone that borders on concerned, “I don’t even know why he takes them. It’s gross. He has his own.”
“Simple. Yours are more expensive,” Jungkook smirks, turning to Professor Phillips before he nears your table.
Noting the way that Jungkook and Jin busy themselves with checking their phones and chatting quietly amongst each other, you turn to your professor.
“We didn’t have time to catch up yesterday after class,” Professor Phillips smiles, nodding his head in acknowledgment at Jungkook when he looks between the two of you. “On how the class went,” Phillips explains at your confused stare.
“Oh,” your brows furrow, “I didn’t know I was supposed to get with you on that.”
“You weren’t,” he replies swiftly, “Not supposed to, at least. I just wanted to check in on you, since I know your dad.”
You tense a little at that bit of information being tossed out without warning. It’s not that it’s incriminating for your professor to know your father, because it’s not, but maybe there’s a kernel of you that didn’t want your classmates knowing you had, albeit loose, ties to a member of staff. Jungkook clears his throat softly to the side of you, and you’re unsure of whether it was an attempt to end the conversation or to just let you know he was still there. Regardless, Phillips pays him no mind, instead keeping his attention on you.
Thankfully, no other students are concerned about your encounter. Most had filed out, and the few stragglers were either striking up conversations with each other to avoid heading to their next class or playing on their phones like Jin and Jungkook appeared to still be doing.
“Yesterday went fine,” you tell Professor Phillips tightly, plastering a nice smile on your face. “Today went fine, too.”
“And this class?”
“It’s been good so far,” you tell him, trying to ignore the mental preening your words seem to do to his ego. Men.
“Glad to hear it,” he smiles, “if you need anything at all, you can always stop by and ask. I’d love to help in whatever ways I can.”
Gross.
“Thanks, Professor Phillips,” you say, emphasizing the title. He offers you another smile before heading back towards his desk.
Your nails bite into your palms as you stand up, bookbag slung over your shoulder.
“Thanks for letting me partner with you guys today,” you tell the two Kims before stalking out of the room. You choose to ignore the look Jin shot your way, the way he seemed almost apologetic.
10:05 do u think i’ll get suspended or kicked out if i drink on campus
The near-instant bubbles that pop up on the text thread between you and Victoria reveal that she’d gotten your message right away. Your shoulders relax a bit as you stalk towards the breezeways that will lead you to your astronomy class.
10:06 serious question? prob kicked out. idk that they do the whole fool me once fool me twice fool me three times bullshit here. too small for ppl to be acting like delinquents
You react to her text with a crying emoji before opening the door to your next class.
It’s almost full due to your late departure from drama. You sigh as you settle into a chair close to the exit, pulling out your notebook and trying to ignore the look of concern on Namjoon’s face from across the room as you recalibrate. He frowns, small but there, before pulling out his phone.
Whatever.
Professor Jones doesn’t encroach on your personal space. Doesn’t ask you how your previous day went, or hint that she knows any of your family members (because she doesn’t) in the presence of your classmates. She just does her job. Like an instructor should, a small part of you echoes.
You find that you genuinely enjoy the time spent in her classroom. And even though Namjoon was nice enough the day prior, you also find yourself appreciating the space between the two of you. You liked learning, and you could admit that doing so had been proven perhaps a tad difficult when the Kims were surrounding you.
Professor Jones ends the lecture with questions you clearly cannot answer here and now. Spiral galaxies, elliptical galaxies, and irregular galaxies all seem the same to you. The sun will eventually die. Andromeda will merge with the Milky Way. The cosmos is a wondrous, vast thing. And you were just a blip in its existence. Small. Inconsequential. Not an insult, just fact.
You peer down at your phone as people start filtering out of the room, replying to the group text between you and the three others to reassure them that yes, you would still be driving everyone home.
“You all good?”
You don’t have to look up to know it’s Namjoon asking you the question. Partially because his voice stands out, but also partially due to the simple fact that you’d spoken with none of the other students in the class.
“Don’t you have a squabble to be refereeing?”
“What?”
The tone of his voice has you looking up at him. He’d put on a pair of glasses at some point during the lecture, and you’re stunned by them because they look good. Namjoon stiffens slightly, almost as if he’d caught on to your wandering thoughts, so you shove them away with fervor before meeting his eyes again.
“Jimin stole Jin’s earbuds or something.”
“Again?”
You laugh, “supposedly so.”
“He has his own,” Namjoon says with a shake of his head.
“They’re not expensive enough,” you offer Jungkook’s earlier reasoning, and Namjoon suppresses a wide smile with a small one. You’d be lying if you claimed not to be disappointed in his doing so.
“Thanks for the heads up,” he says softly. “But seriously, you good?”
“I’m good,” you nod, adding after a moment, “it’s just been a long morning.”
Namjoon accepts your answer with a nod of his own, but doesn’t press the matter.
“My friends were fawning over your car this morning,” you tell him when he lingers near your desk. He steps gracefully out of your way as you stand up and gather your things.
“I’ve had it for a bit,” Namjoon says with what sounds like embarrassment. “I only drove it this morning because the others wouldn’t stop arguing about who was driving.”
“Ah,” you tip your head. “Egos.”
“Something like that,” he chuckles. The sound is low, and bordering on pretty. “Jungkook just got his car, so he jumps at the opportunity whenever it’s offered. I think the others end up wanting to drive theirs just to annoy him… or to avoid his speeding.”
“Even Taehyung?”
Namjoon tenses at the mention of Taehyung, but recovers so quickly you wonder if you’d seen it. “Even Tae.” He’s silent for a moment before continuing, “I heard about your run-in with him yesterday. I’m sorry about that.”
“No need,” you wave off his apology.
“Taehyung isn’t usually so…” he trails off.
“Dickish?” You offer the word from Victoria’s dictionary.
He laughs fully as you guys exit the classroom, “Sure, dickish. But really, he’s a good guy. He’s just going through some stuff at the moment.”
“Mmm,” you nod. “I didn’t think it was something I did, for what it’s worth,” a lie, but there was truth behind it. You hadn’t done anything wrong. You just ran into the guy accidentally. From the display at the assembly and drama afterwards, you’d assumed Taehyung’s distaste for you ran deeper than your stumble.
“Good. It wasn’t.”
“Jin said Taehyung’s getting better?”
“Yeah, he’s got the stomach flu.”
“That sucks. I didn’t know that was getting passed around right now. I hope I don’t get it.” You shiver, remembering the short physical contact you shared with Taehyung.
“Vaccinated?”
“Duh.”
“That helps,” Namjoon smirks.
“Doesn’t mean I want to spend the next two days on the bathroom floor,” you grimace.
“That does sound pretty miserable.” He replies as you near the parking lot. “Your roommates will take care of you if you get sick, right?”
“At least two of them.”
“The other?”
“Not so much,” you sigh.
You try to avoid the three sets of eyes that burn holes into your head from your car as you descend the steps to the lot… and the additional five sets that come from the two luxury cars across the way. From the way Namjoon shifts his balance (gracefully, mind you) from one foot to the other, you can tell he’s doing the same.
“Well, if you get sick, I’m sorry.” Namjoon offers kindly, “But I have a feeling you won’t.”
“I admire the optimism,” you exhale. “Thanks for checking on me,” you add awkwardly, “I don’t really know people here.”
“It’s no problem, really.” He reassures you. “See you in class?”
“Yeah,” you nod, “see you.”
“Kim fucking Namjoon, Victoria!”
“I heard you the first ten times, Rachel.” Victoria groans.
“I’m right here,” you whisper, signaling to turn out of the parking lot. “Like, literally right here. Am I invisible? A ghost?”
Naomi shakes her head from the passenger seat, offering you a weak smile and a mouthed sorry.
“I just don’t get it.” Rachel sighs.
“Anyways,” Victoria drawls, eyes locking onto yours in the rearview as she ends the conversation with Rachel. “I need to go to the bookstore before it closes tonight. You wanna go?”
“Absolutely,” you nod.
“Oooh, can I tag along? I’ve been meaning to get the new ACOTAR book.” Naomi perks up.
“Sure thing, we can take my car now that the weather is behaving.” Victoria smiles.
“What about me?” Rachel asks.
“You want to go to the bookstore?” Victoria gapes.
“Well, yeah? I do read, you know.”
“Yeah?”
“Listen, I get that I’m a bitch, but I can enjoy reading, too. The two things aren’t mutually exclusive. A bitch can read.”
Despite your feelings regarding Rachel, you laugh. And the others do, too.
“The new ACOTAR is good, by the way,” Rachel tells Naomi before popping her earbuds in and leaning back in her seat.
“Today’s weird.” Naomi’s words settle into the space of the car, and you can only offer her a nod before you turn on the radio and axe any possibility of the girls furthering in their questioning on Namjoon Kim.
The bookstore is quiet and warm, the shelves line the walls to the ceiling, and are stocked full of books, both new and used.
Your eye catches on a few, and you do a quick check of your bank account before allowing yourself to grab three of the five that caught your fancy, one of which you’ve read before but have yet to own. Naomi and Rachel are both standing near the Sarah J Maas corner, eyeing Throne of Glass novels with intense interest, whilst you and Victoria stand near the coffee and hot chocolate maker that’s neighboring the register counter.
“It’s free, right?” You ask as Vic pours some of the hot chocolate mix into her hot water.
“Yep,” she nods. “It’s a huge selling point here.”
You chew on your bottom lip before pouring your own cup. Stirring the mix in with one of the little plastic stirrers, you turn to your friend, almost dropping your cup when you notice Jimin standing near the historical section of the shop with Jin. Neither of them appears wounded, so you assume Namjoon had done his job of mediator well enough.
Jimin catches your eye just before you turn away and smiles at you, waving his acknowledgment and pointing you out to Jin. Jin, bless him, nods once before refocusing on the books in front of him.
“They’re everywhere lately,” Vic whispers, sipping at her flimsy cup. “It’s like you summon them.”
“That’d be a fucking pointless power,” you shake your head, and Vic laughs. “They’re probably just looking for a book for a class or something.”
“Mhm,” she nods, but seems unconvinced. “Any of them catch your fancy yet?”
“Are you joking?” You scoff at her, but even to you the sound seems flat and weightless.
“It’s just a question,” she smirks, and you catch Jimin looking your way again.
“I’m not justifying it with an answer.”
“Listen, all I’m saying is… I haven’t seen a single Kim look at anyone on campus or back in high school the way they look at you.”
“We’ve been in class for a few days, dude.”
“I’m not claiming it makes sense,” Vic shrugs. “Just want to be transparent with you. I mean, I guess I have only seen you around Jungkook and Jimin. But even Namjoon today? He looked like he was interested with the way he escorted you to your car.”
“Okay, technically, he only walked with me to the lot, and it’s not like that. With any of them.”
“You sure?”
“One hundred percent.”
“So… is that why Jimin’s walking over to us now?” She asks with a quirked brow and a sneaky smirk.
You snap your mouth shut and pause stirring your hot chocolate to smile at Jimin as he walks up. He’s completely relaxed, hands in his jacket pockets, none the wiser to your conversation with Victoria moments prior, but there’s an aura to him that seems almost cocky when he smiles back at you… like he’s caught you in a trap. Up close, he smells faintly clean, something soft and floral that cuts through the aroma of hot chocolate wafting up from your cup.
“Hey,” he says, voice light, like he’s not interrupting anything at all. His eyes flick briefly to Vic before they settle again on you. “Sorry--do you mind if I ask you something?”
Victoria’s elbow nudges into your side, subtle but intentional. The witch.
“Depends,” you reply, brow lifted. “Is it weird?”
Jimin’s lips curve, just slightly, and his eyes crinkle into those half moons that have you wanting to swoon. “I don’t think so.”
“That’s what people who ask weird stuff usually say,” you mutter, but there’s no bite to your words.
“I’m looking for something new to read,” he continues, like you hadn’t said anything at all. “You seemed… decisive earlier.” His gaze drops to the books tucked against your side before running the length of your torso and neck back to your face. “Figured I’d ask.”
There’s something about the way he says it, earlier, that makes your stomach twist faintly.
Victoria hums beside you, far too pleased with herself. You side-eye her, hoping it stings, but not really.
“Well,” you start, shifting your weight, “depends on what you’re into. Fantasy? Romance? Something that’ll emotionally devastate you for no reason?”
“Dealer’s choice,” jimin says easily. “What would you recommend?”
You narrow your eyes at him slightly, like you’re trying to figure out if this is a trick question. “That sounds like a setup.”
“It’s not,” he assures you, tone softening just a fraction. “I just want your opinion.”
Your grip tightens slightly around the cup in your hand. There’s the feeling again, like he’s not just asking about the damn books in the shop.
Victoria clears her throat lightly. “She’s got good taste,” she offers, casual, like she didn’t enjoy every second of this torture. “Even if she won’t admit it.”
You shoot her another withering glare, and she just smiles in response.
“Do you?” Jimin asks, attention never leaving you.
“I mean,” you shrug, trying to play it off and end this conversation before it really builds, “I don’t pick terrible ones. Not particularly fantastic ones, either.”
“That’s not what I asked,” he smirks.
There’s a beat. A small one. But it stretches somehow.
You swallow, then glance down at the books between your arm and side, using them as an anchor. “This one’s good,” you say, setting your cup on the counter to hold your previous read up slightly. “It’s more character-driven, kinda slow at first, but it picks up. And this--” you tilt another towards him, “this one’s supposed to be pure chaos. In a good way,” you amend. “I haven’t actually read it yet.”
Jimin leans in to look, closer than necessary, his shoulder almost brushing yours. “Chaos,” he repeats, thoughtful. “I can work with that.”
Your breath catches, not noticeably, you hope, but enough that you shift back half a step without meaning to.
He notices. Of course he does.
But he doesn’t comment.
Instead, he straightens, eyes flicking once more over your face before he smiles again, softer this time. “Thanks. I’ll trust your judgment.”
“Bold move,” you mutter.
Victoria snorts quietly into her cup.
Jimin’s gaze lingers a second longer than it should. “Not really,” he says. “You don’t seem like someone who recommends things lightly.”
The feeling is there again, like this conversation is about more than simply just books.
“Guess you’ll find out,” you reply, forcing a small smile.
“I think I will,” he nods, a slight dip of his head, and steps back, the space between you easing in a way that feels almost immediate. Like you hadn’t realized how close he was until he wasn’t anymore.
“I’ll let you get back to it,” he adds, glancing back at Victoria briefly. “Nice seeing you again.”
Victoria perks up just enough to smile back. “You too.”
Jimin turns, heading back toward the shelves where Jin still stands, flipping a page he doesn’t seem to be reading. And just before Jimin fully disappears down the aisle he’d been standing close to originally with Jin, he glances back. Not at Victoria. At you.
Victoria exhales next to you, low and impressed. “Yeah,” she murmurs. “That was totally about books.”
You collect your hot chocolate from the counter and stare down at it in your hands, watching the surface ripple slightly.
“Shut up.”
But your voice lacks conviction. Victoria says something back, something quick, teasing, but it blurs before it fully lands. The words slide past you like water over glass, distorted and distant.
Your fingers tighten again over the paper cup in your hand. The bookstore feels too warm, suddenly. Or maybe you’re just aware of it now. The heat from the cup bleeding into your palm, the faint hum of the overhead lights, the soft shuffle of pages turning somewhere deeper in the aisles. It all presses in at once, like your senses have decided to wake up all at the same time.
Your heart stutters. Not fast, not slow… just off, a bit.
You swallow, but your throat feels dry, which doesn’t make sense because you just took a sip. The taste of chocolate lingers, too sweet now, sitting heavy on your tongue. And for a second, just one second, you can still feel it. The space where Jimin had been standing. So close. So aware.
You blink, once, twice, forcing your gaze to refocus on the swirling liquid in the cup.
“Hey,” Victoria’s voice cuts in clearer this time, closer.
You inhale, slow and deliberate, like you’re reminding your body how to do it properly. The noise of the bookstore filters back in, piece by piece, Naomi’s voice somewhere nearby, Rachel laughing at something, the soft beep of the register. Normal.
“Earth to YN,” Vic murmurs, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours. “You good?”
“Peachy,” you say with a shake of your head, taking another careful sip of your hot chocolate like it might ground you back into your body. It doesn’t. At least not fully.
“Mm,” she hums, unconvinced.
Before she can say anything else, Naomi and Rachel reappear from around the corner of the aisle, both of them clutching books to their chests like they’d just robbed the place blind.
“Got ‘em,” Naomi beams, holding up her copy. “They had, like, three different editions, and I almost lost my mind trying to pick one.”
“Same,” Rachel adds, though her attention is already drifting, eyes narrowing slightly as they flick between you and Victoria. “What’d we miss?”
“Nothing,” you answer immediately.
“Everything,” Vic says at the same exact time.
Rachel’s head tilts, interest piqued instantly. “Oh, now I know that’s a lie,” she smiles at you, sickly sweet.
Naomi’s gaze lingers on you a second longer than necessary, something softer there, curious but not pushy. “Was that Jimin?” She asks gently.
You sigh, tossing your hot chocolate into the trash bin next to the aisle. “Can we not do this here?”
Victoria snorts again into her cup.
“I’m just asking,” Naomi says, though she’s clearly already piecing it together. “He came over, right?”
Rachel perks up like she’s just been handed a live wire. “Wait-- he came over? To you?”
“It was nothing,” you insist, starting towards the register before they can circle you any further. “He asked for a book recommendation. That’s it.”
“That’s it,” Victoria echoes under her breath, far too amused.
Rachel hurries to keep up with you, nearly bumping into your shoulder. “And you just… gave one to him? Like a normal person?”
“What was I supposed to do, Rachel? Gatekeep literature?” you shoot back, exasperation finally bleeding through your tone.
“I don’t know,” she shrugs, unfazed. “Be interesting about it.”
Naomi laughs softly behind you, stepping up beside the two of you as the line for the register comes into view. “Pretty sure being approached in a bookstore is already interesting enough.”
“Thank you,” you mutter, shooting her a grateful look.
Rachel crosses her arms, still eyeing you like you’re withholding classified information. “Did he flirt with you?”
“No.”
Victoria makes a small noise.
You cut her a look.
“What?” she shrugs innocently. “I’m just breathing.”
“You’re not subtle,” you hiss.
“Wasn’t trying to be.”
The line moves quicker than expected, and before Rachel can dig her claws in any deeper, you’re setting your books down on the counter, Vic getting in line behind you. The cashier smiles politely as she scans them, Naomi and Rachel stepping up beside you to do the same, both still buzzing over their ACOTAR finds. You swipe your friends’ books from their grasp with ease, motioning for the cashier to scan them as well.
“That’ll be--” the cashier starts, and you tap your card against the reader before she can finish.
Naomi gasps softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“I wanted to,” you shrug. “Consider it a ‘thanks for not interrogating me like a suspect’ bonus.”
Rachel scoffs. “I haven’t even started yet.”
“I know,” you sigh. “Yours was a bribe.”
Victoria laughs outright at that, grabbing her book and tucking it against her side. “Smart. Preemptive damage control.”
You collect your books, tucking them securely under your arm as you push the door open with a shoulder. The bell above jingles softly, the warm air of the shop giving way to the cool evening outside.
Naomi and Rachel trail behind you, already slipping back into conversation about plotlines and characters, their voices easy and familiar. Victoria nudges your arm again as you step off the curb.
“You’re not beating the allegations, by the way,” she whispers.
“I’m not entertaining them,” you shoot back.
“Too late for that.”
You roll your eyes, tightening your grip on your books as you head toward the car. For a moment, everything feels normal again, just a late evening, a bookstore run, your friends’ voices filling the space around you. But as you reach for the car door, something pulls at your attention. A feeling more than anything.
You glance back.
Through the bookstore window, between the tall shelves and soft lighting, you catch a glimpse of him.
Jimin.
Standing exactly where he'd left you. Already looking at you.
“YN?” Naomi calls, hand halfway to the rear passenger door.
“Yeah,” you answer quickly, tearing your gaze from the bookstore window and sliding into the passenger seat. “Coming.”
The door shuts, sealing you inside the quiet hum of the car as Victoria starts the engine.
Warm air, familiar voices. Normal.
Your eyes fix straight ahead as Victoria peels out of the parking lot. And pointedly do not look back again.
The apartment greets you with warmth the second you step inside.
It’s immediate, like crossing some invisible threshold. The soft hum of the heater, the faint scent of something Victoria must have sprayed earlier, the low glow of the lamp in the living room casting everything in a golden haze. It feels smaller than it did this morning. Safer.
“Shoes,” Naomi reminds gently, toeing hers off by the door.
“Right,” you nod, kicking yours off and nudging them into place with your heel.
Rachel disappears into the kitchen almost immediately, already rummaging through cabinets. Victoria follows, calling out something about snacks, and Naomi lingers just long enough to brush your arm lightly as she passes.
“You okay?” she asks, soft enough that it doesn’t carry over to eager ears.
You nod. “Just tired.”
She studies you for a half second longer, then smiles. “We’ll keep it lowkey tonight.”
“Please.”
The kitchen quickly fills with a clink of glasses and the rustle of packaging. By the time you drop your bag in your room and come back out, Rachel is already pouring wine into mismatched cups, her earlier edge softened.
“Study night,” she announces, like she’s hosting something official. “With benefits.”
“Benefits being?” Vic asks, grabbing a cup and raising a pointed brow.
“Alcohol,” Rachel smirks, sliding a cup your way from across the counter.
“Ah,” you hum, taking it. “Academic excellence.”
Naomi laughs, settling onto the couch with her books spread neatly in front of her. “If we fail, we can at least say we tried.”
“Speak for yourselves,” Rachel says, flopping onto the armchair. “I plan on passing and thriving.”
“You plan on gossiping,” Victoria corrects, dropping beside Naomi and cracking open her notebook.
“Multitasking,” Rachel shoots back.
You settle onto the floor with your back against the couch, your books fanned out in front of you, wine balanced carefully in your hand. The quiet that follows isn’t uncomfortable. It’s easy. Pages flipping, pens scratching, the occasional sigh or muttered complaint filling the space between sips.
For a while, it almost feels like nothing happened. Like the day didn’t stretch and twist in all the ways it had.
Naomi leans over at one point, pointing at something in your notes. “You missed this part,” she murmurs.
“Did I?” you frown, scooting closer.
“Yeah-- here,” she taps the page you’d been dead-eyeing in your textbook. “It connects to the next section you started on.”
“God, I’m blind,” you mutter, scribbling it down. “Thanks.”
“You’re distracted,” Vic says lightly, not even looking up from her own work.
“I’m not distracted,” you argue automatically.
Rachel snorts. You ignore her. Another stretch of quiet passes. Comfortable until it isn’t.
“So,” Rachel starts, far too casually.
You don’t look up. “No.”
“I didn’t even say anything yet.”
“You were going to,” you reply, flipping a page a little harder than necessary.
“I was just going to ask a question.”
“No.”
Victoria huffs out a laugh, shaking her head.
Naomi nudges Rachel lightly with her foot. “Maybe give it a rest?”
“I’m just curious,” Rachel insists, sitting forward. “You cannot expect me not to be when--”
“When what?” you snap, the words sharper than you meant for them to be.
The room stills.
Rachel blinks at you, clearly caught off guard.
You exhale through your nose, dragging a hand through your hair. “It’s nothing, Rachel. They’re just people. I had a couple of conversations today. That’s it.”
“That’s not how it looks,” she says, quieter now, but still pushing. “They don’t talk to anyone. Ever. And suddenly--”
“And suddenly what?” you cut in, heat rising in your chest before you can stop it. “They talk to me and it’s some big conspiracy? Maybe they’re just being nice. Maybe I’m just there.”
“That’s not what I--”
“I don’t know them,” you continue, the words coming faster now. “I don’t care if they’re hot or rich or whatever else you’re fixating on. It’s not a thing. There is no ‘thing.’ Can we please just drop it?”
Silence that weighs heavily this time consumes the small space in the living room.
Rachel’s mouth presses into a thin line. For a second, it looks like she might argue, push harder, dig deeper. She doesn’t.
“Fine,” she says instead, standing abruptly and grabbing her cup along with her notebook. “Didn’t realize it was that serious.”
Guilt flickers through you, quick and unwelcome.
“Rachel--”
“I’m going to bed,” she cuts you off, not unkindly, but not warmly either. “I’ve got an early morning.”
She disappears down the hall, her door clicking shut a moment later. The quiet that follows is different. Not comfortable. You stare down your notes, the words blurring slightly as your eyes sting.
“Hey,” Naomi says gently.
You swallow. “I didn’t mean to…” you trail off.
“She’ll be fine,” Victoria offers, softer than her usual tone. “You didn’t say anything wrong.”
“I kind of did,” you mutter.
“You kind of snapped,” Naomi corrects you. “There’s a difference.”
You huff out a breath, setting your pen down. “I just… don’t get why it matters so much.”
Victoria shrugs. “Because it’s weird. And people latch onto weird.”
Naomi tilts her head. “But that doesn’t mean you have to.”
You nod, even if the knot in your chest doesn’t fully loosen.
Victoria taps your shoulder. “You’re still coming Friday, right?”
“The party?” you groan.
“Yes, the party,” she grins. “Small house, college guys, questionable music choices. It’ll be fun.”
Naomi nods eagerly. “We’ll stick together the whole time. Promise.”
You hesitate for a second. Then sigh.
“Yeah, I’ll go.”
“Good,” Vic beams.
You glance between them, then add, “The Kims won’t be there, right?”
Vic laughs immediately. “God, no.”
Naomi shakes her head. “They don’t go to parties. Like, ever.”
“Seriously,” Vic adds. “I’ve never seen them at one. Not once.”
Something in your chest settles at that.
“Okay,” you murmur, “good.”
“Good?” Vic echoes, amused.
“Shut up,” you groan, but there’s no heat behind it this time.
Naomi smiles, gathering her things. “We should probably call it soon anyway. Early morning tomorrow for all of us.”
“Ugh,” Vic grumbles, finishing off her wine.
You clean up slowly, stacking your books, rinsing out your cup, moving through the motions on autopilot. The apartment quiets again as lights flick off one by one.
By the time you make it to your room, the world feels smaller again.
You change, plug your phone in, and slide beneath the covers after shelving your new books, the familiar weight of your blankets ground you.
The events of the day flicker behind your eyes… glances, voices, the feeling of being watched, of being known just a little too quickly.
You turn onto your side, pulling the blanket higher.
And eventually, with the soft hum of the apartment around you, sleep comes.
taglist (ask to be added) - @parapiop7 @alessiamargaux @wannaghostbts @arrctica @sexymysteriousgirl
Note:
Hi everyone, it’s Makaira here! 🩷
This blog has definitely turned into a fic rec hub at this point. I’ve made 14 lists of recs for the members for which I'll share the link, and I even have more in my drafts. But sometimes I noticed it’s kind of hard to find a specific genre or trope because you have to go through all the lists.
So, to make it easier for both you and me, I’ve decided to make member-specific fic recs organized by genre or trope. That way, it’s much easier to find what you want to read for each member.
You can check out either this reblogged version or the original lists; whichever feels easier.
I’ll also keep updating the old lists for anyone who prefers that version. For now, this is Jin’s version! I’m still working on the other members, so it’ll take a little time, but I hope you all enjoy it. 🩷
Here's my old fic recs masterlist- OLD MASTERLIST
↠ OT7 masterlist ↠ Yoongi's Masterlist ↠ Namjoon's Masterlist ↠ Hoseok's Masterlist ↠ Jimin's Masterlist ↠ Taehyung's Masterlist ↠ Jungkook's Masterlist
Parchment Paper and Matchsticks - KSJ [Free Chapter]
✨ Patreon Exclusive Series ✨
Part of Bangtan Single Dad Universe
Pairing: Single Dad Seokjin X Fem Reader
Theme: Strangers to lovers au, chance encounter au, single dad au.
Summary:
Kim Seokjin is a wealthy man - a sweetheart heartthrob before the world but avoidant, cold and distant in secret. He is also the man whose wife eloped with your fiance - leaving both of you shocked and traumatized. And now he is at your door demanding you to put his life back together by sorting out the mess your fiance made.
By the way, Kim Seokjin is also the father of a seven year old girl, who might have taken too much of a liking to you, while you are starting to feel certain things for Seokjin himself.
Warnings: Angst, reader has mild depression, Seokjin is so angry.
Minors do not interact!
W.C: 2k
A/N: This is a Patreon exclusive series updating every Thursday. This is a free chapter, the rest of the series will be updated on Patreon only.
P.S: iOS users have to pay $4.50 while my original sub is $3. You can avoid paying extra by using Patron web version, instead of the application.
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 - Finale
Dear Y/N,
It will be a little cruel to say that I hope this letter finds you well. By the time you would find this letter, I’d be gone. I know, I know you must still be in disbelief, you must be trying too hard to find out a clue that suggests all of these are just a prank. But, it’s not. I am sorry. I really am sorry but I had no other way.
Falling in and out of love is not something we can control. And despite trying my hardest to be faithful to you, I could not. Yes, yes, your suspicion was right. I have been cheating on you. And I am extremely ashamed to let you know like this. There’s no excuse, no blame game, nothing - it’s just that she is irresistible and I have fallen deeper than ever.
I am not going to ask you to forgive me. But please don’t stay too angry with me either. I really am sorry and I hope you find someone you can love too, I hope you find someone who loves you back even more.
Hasta la vista,
Minhyuk.
The paper feels uncharacteristically harsh against the skin of your palm. It’s almost as if you are holding a bouquet of thorns. The thick layer of shock starts thinning out slowly as you wait for the pain to hit. But nothing comes.
You don’t feel your heart ripping out of your chest, you don’t feel anger running to your brain, you don’t feel an overwhelming urge to cry and throw yourself out of the balcony. If there’s anything you feel then it’s the fear of being alone again.
The reason that relentlessly chased you and made you say yes to the marraige with Minhyuk, was loneliness. For years you have watched your friends, acquaintances, relatives, and juniors getting married, having kids, living a life filled to the brim with all sorts of familial experiences. While most of the time you didn’t feel anything, coming back home to no one to vent with, had taken a toll on you on tough days.
Minhyuk had filled that gap, at least. No, you didn’t fall in love with him. But you liked him quite a bit for how good of a listener he was, and you believed that will be a day when love will come naturally to you.
Thanks to your ex-fiance, you didn’t feel much lonely for the last two years - well, at least for the most of it.
Even when he started acting distant some seven or eight ago and became more absent than present - you didn’t feel completely abandoned. The suspicion started sitting tight on your chest during that one time when you accidentally read a “see you tomorrow, my love” text on his lockscreen.
When you asked him if he was cheating, he said no. And that was it - you asked no further questions, didn’t follow him secretly, didn’t check his phone - you only accepted, trusted him and moved on.
And maybe that’s why you feel more disappointed than hurt. He could have just told you. If he did… only if he did…
“Y/N!” your mother’s voice pierces through the veil of your thoughts, “did you talk to Minhyuk or his phone is still unreachable? We are getting really late, ttal. There’s another rehearsal scheduled for today. The staff keep asking-”
“Minhyuk is gone, eomma.” you drop the bomb, eyes skating out of the large italian window of the venue.
“What- what do you mean by gone?” she asks, still not being able to measure the solemnity of your expression. “Has he got caught up in work?”
“Eomma” standing up, you face your mother. It is going to be a lot harder for her than it is to you. Her dream of getting her daughter married is about to be broken in several fine pieces. “Minhyuk is not- we are not getting married. He has eloped with someone else.” you are not sure if your words are enough to get the reality through her.
“Eloped with someone else?” her expression shatters but then she is waving it off, “this is not the time to pull pranks, Y/N. where is he hiding?”
“Eomma” as you shut your eyes tight, a drop of wetness rolls down your cheek. You didn’t even know when your eyes filled, “read this.” handing her the letter, you walk towards the dressing room to get changed.
You hear her crying out loud when you slip into your jeans. As you put the wedding gown back in its case, another drop falls on the fabric. A broken engagement is one thing but being rejected like this - left out to deal with the mess, abandoned for not being lovable enough to capture your fiance’s heart - is a big scar to deal with. And now, on top of loneliness you will have to fight this trauma every single day as well.
If there is another version of you in a parallel universe, is she living a better life than you?
Minhyuk is a clean and responsible person - two of his many admirable traits and two of the characteristics that made you like him. So, he hasn’t left any mess behind him (except for the cancelled wedding and the mocking relatives). Ever since you were delivered the letter three months ago at the wedding hall - you have been trying to find out if he had left any big amount of loans or had held the condo as a collateral to something. Much to your relief, you couldn’t find anything sketchy.
Before eloping, Minhyuk took time to wipe out everything he ever owned from your shared space. He cleaned his existence with an extreme precision as if he never even existed in the first place. And now the condo seems to be larger than before - your own voice echoes too loudly in here, reminding you how alone you are, reminding you how you were rejected, abandoned, and how you can never be complete.
Hugging your knees closer to your chest, you stare listlessly at the tv. Some kind of variety show is playing in it, but your mind is way too occupied to register what’s going on, what’s the mission and what is the prize.
The doorbell rings, cutting through the sound of the tv and your thoughts. Partly annoyed and partly surprised to have your condo bell ring by someone past 9 - you stand up and trudge towards the home tab to check the identity of your guest.
Pressing on the camera button, you don’t find anyone. Maybe it’s one of the packages that were due to be delivered. But this late?
Curiosity peaks as you grab the door knob and twist it open.
The door opens revealing a tall figure with a set of broad shoulders on the other side. The man is so tall that your eyes are level with his chest. So you have to drag your eyes up to find his face. And you wish you didn’t - because the man, the intruder - is handsome, so much so that your mouth goes dry for a few seconds. But as you keep staring at those chocolate brown eyes, those plump lips, recognition slowly seeps in.
Kim Seokjin.
It is Kim Seokjin of Gumiho Studios - the eminent video game developing company that is ruling the market currently. You have seen his face far too many times in magazines, business tabloids and so on. He has been labeled as the genius, heartthrob techie who has got both talent, looks as well as the charms.
But wait, what is he doing at your door?
“Are you Y/N?” he asks, voice quiet, soft but with a hint of harshness added to it.
“Yes. If I am not wrong, you are Kim Seokjin.” you are still trying to wrap your head around the fact that he is here, talking to you and looking kind of pissed.
“Glad to know that you are aware of my identity." Seokjin straightens up even more, awkwardly so, “now if you don’t mind welcoming me inside, I would like to have a chat with you in private.”
“Can I know what it is about? I mean, I have never gotten to know you or had a mutual connection. It’s kind of weird that you're here demanding to talk to me like this.”
“You will know once you let me in. But if you still need a clue then…” he lets out a frustrated sigh, “it’s about your fiance Kim Minhyuk.”
You freeze. Your fingertips start tingling the way they do before getting numb. “He doesn’t live here anymore.” you inform the intimidating man.
“I know. His absence is what has brought me here in the first place.” His words get a bit more impatient now.
Nodding more to yourself than to him, you remove yourself from the doorway to let the man in. You had no idea that Minhyuk was acquaintances with Kim Seokjin. Wait, he didn’t take any personal loan from this man, did he?
“Please take a seat. Do you want some water?” you try your best to be hospitable, but the man stands still at the doorway.
“I will come straight to the point, Miss Y/N.” he starts, pinning you down with his gaze. This has to be about money! “Your fiance has messed up my perfectly functioning life and now you have to take responsibility for the mess he made.”
It takes you a few seconds to hear, register, comprehend and understand what he is saying, that too, with the palpable heat in his voice.
How much is the loan?
“I am sorry, but I don’t think I can understand what you are saying.” your voice gets small.
“What I am saying, Miss Y/N, is that your fiance has eloped with my wife leaving me and my seven year old daughter completely alone!” he doesn’t say those words, but grit them though the cage of his teeth.
Minhyuk did what?! He eloped with KIm Seokjin’s wife?!
You feel as if the ground beneath your feet has split in half and you are falling down into an unfathomable darkness. Your heart starts thumping like it might soon stop working all together.
“My daughter is really… She hardly knows anything other than her mother. She doesn’t listen to nannies or her grandparents or anyone for that matter, not even me. And I will have to be out for the entire day tomorrow, which is a Saturday, meaning she doesn’t have school. And you” he pauses, a tick on his jaw appears, “you will have to look after her tomorrow.”
Your jaw opens wider than ever, “excuse me? What do you even mean?”
“I mean exactly what you heard. If not for your scoundrel fiance, my wife would still be here and I would not be having this tough of a time as a parent and as a husband.” he accuses Minhyuk boldly. “All while it seems like you have quite a peaceful life to yourself. Tell me how fair it is?” Kim Seokjin takes a quick look at your condo, concluding the fact that you live an unrushed life.
His conclusion can be whatever he likes but that doesn’t mean you will say yes to him just like that. You are quiet, but not naive.
“I didn’t tell him to elope with your wife. I am as much of a victim as you are, Mr. Kim. and hence, I hold no responsibility for sharing your parental duties.” you tell him firmly, and you are not going to budge from your argument.
“I don’t care. Trust me I don’t care about how much of a victim you are, I just know that it’s unfair for me to be at the most disadvantage. And I want, no, I need you to take responsibility for your fiance’s actions. In return, I will solve any issues my wife’s actions created in your life. That’s it.” he states, as plain as a verdict, not even a least bit interested in knowing what you think of this weird exchange program.
“Mr. Kim, this is not how things work-”
“I will be here with Yeseo at 8 am sharp tomorrow.” he cuts you off and even before you can form a reply, he is out of the door.
As the door slams shut behind him, you stand there dumbfounded, too buzzed to make out what just happened.
You thought Minhyuk didn’t leave a trace of himself behind. But in reality, his actions left something much more complicated than loans for you to take care of.
